


The Case of Prisoner 847

by Kete (Kete_hlin94)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon - Book, Eventual Relationships, F/M, Flashbacks, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Lawyer Hermione Granger, Minor Original Character(s), Minor Theodore Nott/Harry Potter, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, Nottpott, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prisoner Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:48:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28695720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kete_hlin94/pseuds/Kete
Summary: Hermione Granger has been studying Wizard law since she graduated Hogwarts and has made it her mission to fix as many problems as she can. One of these is the mistreatment of prisoner 847, former classmate Draco Malfoy, who was sentenced to five years in Azkaban after the war for his crimes as a Death Eater. Rated Mature for later chapters and eventual Dramione.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 35
Kudos: 85





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was previously posted on ffn where my author name is Kete.Hlin

“Miss Granger I need you to calm down.”

“I am perfectly amicable,” Hermione huffed, the stray strands around her face bobbing free of the bun at the back of her head. “It’s you that’s making the fuss.”

“Now, now, what’s all this?” A tall man interrupted the two squabbling lawyers.

“Ah good, Mr. Trist, I’m here upon my summons to oversee prisoner eight-four-seven.” The irritating man in front of Hermione spoke. She had been trying to talk sense into him for the last ten minutes without any luck whatsoever. Truthfully she wanted to strangle his overly large and pompous neck.

“And you are?”

“Pierce Kroms, sir. Here is the letter I received from the minister himself.” Kroms handed Trist a neatly folded up piece of parchment. After perusing it Trist gave it back.

“And what, pray tell, are you doing here?” Trist turned to Hermione.

“Sir, I have formally requested, several times, that prisoner eight-four-seven be switched to my care, both via correspondence and personal meetings.”

“What makes you qualified to take that responsibility miss-?”

“Granger,” Hermione said irritably. “I have extensive knowledge about prisoner eight-four-seven and have tried, practically in vain, to contact you and others in charge of my interest in taking his case.” Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, heat spread throughout her body in rage and embarrassment.

Both men towered over her and seemed to look down their nose at her. Silly girl, she could practically see them think. She would not let them trample over her, this was her case, this was her client! Or at least, he was going to be. Determined she straightened her shoulders and looked Trist straight in the eye.

“I am not leaving here until I am at least considered. The ministry has handed prisoner eight-four-seven a standard ministry lawyer without letting him have any say in who speaks his case. I feel he deserves more than that.”

Trist raised a classy eyebrow. “Do you?” His tone was haughty and Hermione realised that she should have worded that better around them. “Well, the criminal hardly deserves much of anything except what he has coming to him. But the ministry has been lenient so far and has allowed him a lawyer. Why on earth would you wish to take his case?”

Hermione pursed her lips, she wanted to punch the man. “Because it is my job.”

“Ah, but alas miss Granger, you are mistaken,” Kroms piped in. “It is my job.”

Scratch that, Hermione wanted to punch both of them.

“Excuse me?” This time a boy, or what looked like an intern at least, his face completely covered in zits that Hermione could hardly hold back her pity for him. “Mr Trist? He’s in the holding room, sir, the guard just finished cuffing him.”

“Thank you,” Trist dismissed the boy and waved for Kroms to follow. They both walked off but Hermione was not finished.

“Mr. Trist you can’t possibly ignore me in this way. I am professionally more capable and much better suited to take on this case.”

“Miss Gringer I advise you to leave now, this is none of your business and I will soon not hesitate to call security.”

“It’s Granger,” Hermione seethed through her teeth. “And you don’t seem to comprehend the severity of what you’re doing. Four other cases such as these have been handled by ministry given officials and all four of them were sentenced in favour of the ministry. Two of those resulted in the kiss. I plead with you now-”

They had all stopped by a door marked with the letter 2, Trist’s hand on the doorknob already. “Miss please-”

“No!” Hermione slashed her hand with finality through the air just as Trist opened the door just a smidge. “This man’s life is at stake and I am capable of saving it. I sincerely doubt that Mr. Kroms here can say the same.”

Trist hesitated looking at her with an almost bored expression. Glancing up and behind her he said: “Tilly, please call security and get them to escort Miss Granger out as she has no business being here.”

“You can’t just-”

“Let her in.”

They all jumped. The sound had come from the other side of door nr. 2. The voice was ragged, almost cracked. Like you’d sound after two weeks of sore throat or smoking six packs of cigarettes. The three of them stood stock still, not daring to move or even breathe. They simply stared.

“Let her in.” The voice said again, this time firmer than before.

Hermione came to her senses first, throwing her shoulders back and keeping her head high, sneering down her nose at the two men as she went past them into the room. Malfoy sat on one of three chairs in the room, his hands were chained to a steel ring fastened on the table. His appearance was… disheartening, to say the least for Hermione. Five years in Azkaban had worn away at his body. His cheeks were hollowed in and his bones portruding anywhere they could. The prison uniform seemed two sizes too big and Hermione could hardly imagine how much weight he had lost in the past five years.

“Is that necessary?” Hermione asked Trist, gesturing to the chains on the table as he took to one of the chairs. Kroms followed them inside, looking at her with a sneer. Neither he nor Hermione took the last free chair.

“Yes,” Trist said simply. “Mr. Malfoy,” Trist continued, ignoring Hermione. “This is your assigned Lawyer, Pierce Kroms.” Trist gestured to him.

Malfoy looked to Kroms, his face placid. As Hermione watched him she realised that she would rather have wanted to see the familiar scorn in his eyes, or any kind of feeling at all instead of the glazed way he stared as if he weren’t all there. There was a pregnant pause as Malfoy observed Kroms before he turned back to Trist.

“I don’t want him.”

“Excuse me?” Trist’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. “He’s all you’re getting. Don’t forget Mr. Malfoy that the ministry is doing you a favour by providing you with-”

“I realise, Mr. Trist,” Malfoy said his name as if it were poison on his lips, practically spitting it over his dry, cracked lips. “But I would rather have miss Granger as my lawyer.”

Now it was Hermione’s turn to be surprised. She really hadn’t expected Malfoy to want her to be his lawyer. Actually she had expected him to sneer at her and tell her to keep her mudblood nose out of his business.

“Mr. Malfoy, please try and be reasonable,” Kroms shot in. “If this is a matter of experience I can fetch my-”

Malfoy held up his hand to stop him, the chains clinking at the movement. “It’s not, Mr. Kroms. I can assure you that it is only a matter of preference.”

Hermione cleared her throat, feeling like Malfoy’s own cracked and dry voice was somehow transfering onto her. “By law Mr. Malfoy is allowed to have a lawyer of his own choosing, as I’m sure you are aware of Mr. Trist.”

Trist’s mouth formed a tight line on his face and he glared daggers at her. “I’m aware.”

“Then you should also be aware of the fact that Mr. Malfoy has now verbalised his displeasure of his given lawyer and mentioned another that he wishes to take his case.” Hermione could hardly keep herself from gloating.

Trist’s face was gradually turning red, as if he were about to boil over from anger. His gaze snapped to Kroms. “I believe your services are no longer needed Mr. Kroms. I must ask you to leave the premises.”

Kroms jaw dropped. “But… you… he… she…” He pursed his lips, levelled another glare at Hermione before turning around, leaving and slamming the door in his wake.

Hermione slipped into the chair beside Trist, sitting opposite Malfoy who still hadn’t looked at her. She put her binder on the table, straightening the files within.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Trist began, reciting a speech he most likely knew by heart. “After having finished your initial five year penance in Azkaban prison for your crimes, you are eligible for probation. Your hearing will take place on September 1st, 10am sharp, ten weeks from now.”

Malfoy’s gaze was on his bound wrists while Trist spoke and Hermione felt inclined to stare at them as well. His hands were dirty, grime stuck under his nails, and they looked uncomfortably dry. Hermione’s gaze moved up to his face which was now framed by his hair, reminding her of Professor Snape. It was no longer groomed but lay slack and unkempt, many strands were stuck together, almost forming small dreadlocks here and there. Hermione wondered how long it had been since he showered or ate properly.

“Do you have any questions?”

Malfoy shook his head.

“Splendid.” Trist turned to her. “You have fifteen minutes to talk with your client before he is escorted back to his cell in Azkaban.” Trist stood and left the room.

Uncomfortable, yes, that’s how Hermione felt. Trying to hide her nerves by straightening out the pages sticking out here and there from her binder. Where to begin? Well, looking at him might be an alright start, you could do it earlier. But then he wasn’t as likely to look back. Buck up, Hermione.

“So,” Hermione said. “Thank you for picking me to be your lawyer, I’ve been trying--”

“Granger,” Malfoy said, stopping her before she could go on a full-on rant. “I only picked you to piss off Trist. That bloody wanker has had it out for me since I got here and payback felt good. Perhaps a bit petty, but a good slap in the face more than I can usually do.”

“Oh.” Hermione deflated. “But I’m still here to work on your case, and as such--”

“What case? Granger, as I’m sure you’re aware, I am a lost cause. I know it, Trist knows it, the Ministry knows it. They gave me a five year sentence and hoped I would die. Now that I haven’t they’ll just give me the kiss and be done with it. So, why bother?”

“Why… why bother?” Hermione felt the ire rise from her stomach up to her throat. “B-b-because!”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, which was slightly reassuring although irritating. At least he was showing emotion. “How very articulate of you, Granger.”

“I am trying to save your life!”

“And I’m telling you it’s a waste of time.”

“How can you say that? How can you say your life isn’t worth saving?”

“Because it isn’t.”

“Of course it is,” Hermione said, standing from her chair, needing to pace. “Every life is worth saving. And there are many ways to look at this. You were young when you were brought in to the Death Eaters, manipulated, steered in the wrong direaction. You didn’t mean to, I mean, you were coerced. You didn’t do anything incriminating.”

Malfoy stared at her with hard eyes, his fists clenched together in their binds.

“You’ve already served your sentence, you’ve payed enough for your crimes--”

“How would you know?” His tone was dark and low, menacing. “What do you know of my ‘crimes’, Granger?”

“Well I-I, I read your file and the transcripts of your past hearings…”

“Ah so you read a little text on a piece of paper, how very thoughtful of you. But let me fill you in on the things not written in that file.” Malfoy slowly rose from his chair, his hands staying by the table, held down by the chains. He leaned forward and Hermione sat back down in her chair, trying not to show her fear. “I am a criminal. I am a murderer and I am a Death Eater.”

Hermione shook her head, ready with the speech she had been thinking of for the past two years.

“To those people I am those things and nothing else. I am scum. I am dirt.” His mouth twitched into a terrifying smirk, devoid of feeling. “Ironic, isn’t it? That I would call you mudblood through our schoolyears and now my family line, the pure blood that runs through my veins, is looked at in that light. No, Granger. I am not worth saving because it is a losing battle. The cards are stacked against me. The system is rigged. So I will get the kiss, my soul will be sucked out of my body and there will be no one there to mourn my passing. No grieving figure standing above my grave as they hurl me into the welcoming abyss.”

Hermione swallowed. “It’s not like that, I can--”

“You can do NOTHING!” Malfoy yelled at her. “Not your bossy tone or your insipid books can help you now because I am not Weasley or Potter,” he said, spitting the names out like venom. “I am not someone to be saved, I am not someone that can be saved. So piss off.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: Triggers and PTSD, mentions of torture and pain.

"It didn't go well," Hermione said, holding a cup of tea with both hands to warm them.

Harry chuckled. "What did you expect? It's Malfoy."

"I know. Honestly, I didn't think I'd get it today in any case. I mean, I've been pestering them about this for almost three years without any response."

"Literally giving you the run-around," Harry said with a nod.

"Figuratively."

"Or that." Harry smiled. "So, what are you going to do now?"

"Be better prepared next time?"

"You're seriously going back there? After he yelled at you?"

"Okay sure," Hermione said. "He did yell at me, and told me he didn't care either way and told me to piss off... but he never called me mudblood, only a vague reference to the past. He looked me in the eye when ranting over me, and he genuinely looked like he was trying to convince me to stop."

"And because of that you're not going to."

"Exactly. You don't tell Hermione Granger what to do." Hermione straightened her back and sipped her cup of tea.

"What if he doesn't want your stubborn help? Don't get me wrong Hermione, I love how determined you are, we all do. But, Malfoy... maybe he is a lost cause. Especially since he's already given up."

"He's spent five years in Azkaban, that would kill anyone's spirit..." Harry gave her a look. "I know what you mean Harry, but there's no one fighting for him. He may have been misguided but never evil. He doesn't deserve to be treated so horrifically. It's prejudice and I won't sit idly by and let it happen."

Harry shrugged and finished his cup of tea. "Did you get Ron's owl?"

"I did," Hermione said stiffly, taking a prolonged sip of her tea.

"You can't ignore him forever. This is taxing on me too you know."

"I know Harry, but it's not really about you, now is it?" Hermione stroked circles on the hard-wooden table. "I'm not ready to talk to him yet. I'm just not sure I can open that door again."

"Alright," Harry said, standing from the table. "I should get going."

"Did you send in your application to Hogwarts yet?"

Harry stuck out his tongue. "Bite me."

Hermione laughed. "Come on Harry, I know how tired you are of being an Auror."

"Stop mothering me!" Harry called from the hall.

"Never!"

The door of 12 Grimmauld place shut as Harry exited and Hermione was alone in the kitchen. She held her empty tea cup for a moment longer, soaking in the familiar silence. Gently setting the cup down on the saucer she took her wand from her pocket, waved it and the cup went to the sink to clean itself. Hermione took two steps at a time up the creaky steps to her room. It was a lot smaller than her old bedroom in her childhood home, but comfy enough. Moving in with Harry was supposed to be temporary but things hadn't gone as planned. So, most of her stuff was still in boxes in other rooms in the spacious house. Unopened just in case she decided to move on a moments' notice. It was stupid really.

Hermione fell back onto her mattress and stared at her lone bookshelf. It hadn't made sense to unpack all her books at the time, so now there was only one bookshelf full of the books she had bought since moving and all of her textbooks on wizarding law. A pin board hung on the wall next to it, pictures and papers pinned in a haphazard order that only she could understand. Her desk, also overflowing with papers and folders of different colours, was pushed against the only window in her room. All her research on Malfoy's case was the reason for the current chaos on her desk and pin board.

Hermione neared her desk and flipped through a few papers. Most were in her own handwriting, notes and observations. Others were copies from transcripts. Technically, Hermione wasn't a lawyer yet. She was still writing her thesis. She would have graduated by now if it wasn't for the big writer's block she'd had for a year and a half. In her desk drawer was the initial mock-up of her thesis, the first twelve pages she finished before not being able to continue. "Prejudice and injustice in Magical Society" is the title she had given it. Although it had changed many times; "Progression of prejudice before and after the Second Wizarding War," too long. "Death Eaters" too vague. "Hermione sucks and can't make a title to save her life" something that came to her at four in the morning while slaving over the topic of her thesis. Instead of pulling that out, Hermione took a blank piece of parchment and wrote a note to Molly Weasley.

"Kreacher?"

"What can Kreacher do for mistress Granger?"

"Could you take this to Molly Weasley please?" Hermione said as kindly as she could muster.

"It would be Kreacher's pleasure," Kreacher said with an upturned lip, taking the note and then with a loud snap he was gone again.

The house-elf still despised her, not as much as he once did, but it was still there. He didn't show it in front of Harry, being careful never to call her the M word. But his displeasure was obvious to Hermione when it was just the two of them. Neither Hermione nor Harry had an owl, so if they wanted to send a message it was easier to get Kreacher to do it rather than renting a ministry owl.

Hermione sad down in front of her desk and opened the blue folder buried underneath three other folders, all of different colours of course. It was Malfoy's initial file. It had a picture of him before he went to Azkaban, holding his prison number plate. Looking as haughty as he ever did in school. Five years in prison had changed him greatly. Hermione couldn't even imagine how she would handle it.

"What am I going to do with you?" She asked the Malfoy picture.

*******************

Hermione held her handbag close to her body as she stepped back into interrogation room 2 the week after their first meeting. Malfoy sat in the same place, with the same stance and his hands restrained by chains on the table in front of him. Hermione wondered for a moment that he might as well have been there the whole week, he sat as still as a statue. When the guard closed the door behind her she gently put her bag on the table and took out a box of Tupperware and pushed it towards Malfoy, watching his face for a reaction.

"I brought you some food," Hermione said hesitantly, hanging her bag on her chair.

Malfoy looked at the Tupperware then back at her.

"It's stew," Hermione continued, reaching over to take the lid off. "Mrs. Weasley made it." Her voice had the same kind of sweetness to it like when she talked to Kreacher. Like when you tried to keep a very dangerous animal calm. "It's really good." Malfoy continued to be quiet and didn't seem at all affected by the wonderful smell that filled the room. "Come on, Malfoy. Try to look at it like a peace offering..."

"No," he said.

"No?"

"No." Malfoy shifted in his seat. "I thought I made it quite clear last time Granger. I do not your help, or your peace offerings."

"Could you at least try to be a little courteous to me?"

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "I thought I was being very respectful Granger, unless you want me to say what first popped into my head?"

Hermione pursed her lips and slammed the lid back on the stew and pushed it back into her purse. "Fine. Whatever."

Malfoy's lips twitched, as if he were going to smirk but then it disappeared. "Finally giving up? Admitting defeat?"

"You really don't know me at all Malfoy if you think I'm going to just quit after one bad meeting. I have tougher skin than that. We have nine weeks before your hearing. That's loads of time to make a case for your release."

"I can also just refuse to see you, make it harder."

Hermione huffed. "Actually, you can't. You have no say in that. These meetings are obligatory before a trial and I intend to use them all, and maybe even add extra."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "You're doing this just to annoy me. Is that what this is? A little payback for the Hogwarts years? Taking Karma into your own hands."

"No, Malfoy. I'm not that spiteful." Hermione reached her hand deep into her purse, fishing out a black folder and setting it on the table. "Let's just start."

"No," Malfoy said with the stubborn tone of a five-year-old.

"Oh grow up Malfoy! I'm doing this case, I am going to be your defense attorney and you'll just have to deal with it."

"Do you have nothing better to do with your life? So deprived of ideas for your dull day-to-day you have to butt your nose into other people's business? How is life with the boy-who-wouldn't-die and his red-headed sidekick? All happily ever after?"

Hermione ignored him and opened the file. "I think our main angle should be the whole underage thing and negative influence."

"Ooooh, trouble in paradise?" Malfoy leaned forward. "Life must be hard having to put up with the ditsy duo, always having to hold their hands through everything and all, but you don't need to project on everyone else."

"We should probably start by talking about your childhood and your parents," Hermione continued. "How they were involved in the first War and their views were passed onto you."

"I'm not talking about my parents."

Hermione tried to hide her smile, glad her bait worked. "Not talking about them is kind of impossible, seeing as they were the biggest reason you're here in the first place."

"I will NOT talk about my parents!" Malfoy shot up out of his seat, toppling his chair and dangling the chains around his wrists.

Hermione jumped back a little, caught off guard by his sudden outburst. His eyes truck her the most, almost deranged and she saw in him then what she had seen in the eyes of Bellatrix Lestrange and even Sirius Black on his wanted posters back in third year.

"Malfoy," she said, trying her best to keep her voice level. "Calm down."

He stood still, staring into her eyes with such fierce rage she wanted to look away. But this was a battle she wasn't willing to give up. She would not be the weak one. He would not win. Hermione fetched her wand, waving it and the chair behind him righted itself again. His gaze moved to her wand and his face showed unmistakable greed. Hermione quickly stowed her wand away again and averted her gaze. Malfoy sat back down, the chain around his wrists jingling as it slackened on top of the table.

Hermione's hand shook as she pushed the papers back into the folder and closed it. She splayed both hands on top of it, forcing them to be still. She needed to gather her bearings, be professional. But all she wanted to do was run away and cry. She hadn't been yelled at like that in so long. She hadn't felt that threatened in... no, she couldn't go there. Not here. Not in front of him.

"I'll see you on Thursday," Hermione said, holding the folder to her chest and picking up her bag off the chair. She didn't look back. She closed the door with a resounding thunk and forced her legs to stay confident and steady on her way to the fireplaces, preparing to floo home. Or to Grimmauld. As close to home as she had now, she supposed.

She took one step out of the floo in the living room and her leg buckled underneath her. Hermione dropped her bag and her hands slammed down on the floor. She groaned, more from the ache in her heart than the pain in her hands. She fought hard at the memories that pushed against her temple. Wanting to force their way through to the surface.

A throat-ripping scream tore from her as she saw Bellatrix above her, pushing the cursed blade further into her arm. Carving the hatred with her blood.

"Hermione!" Harry pulled her up off the floor and shook her by the shoulders. "Hermione focus, you're safe. I'm here." He pulled her into his chest and she sobbed against his shirt.

"I'm not lying, I'm not..." Hermione muttered against Harry's chest in between sobs.

Harry stroked her back. "I know. It's over Hermione. She's not here. She's dead."

Hermione swallowed in between quick and shaky breaths. She nodded. Trying to force herself to believe his words. In her head, she knew he was right, that this wasn't real. It wasn't really happening again. But her body told her otherwise. Her forearm still stung from the blade. Her whole body shook from the crucio's.

Minutes ticked by as Harry comforted her on the living room floor. Stroking her arm or back or hair until her sobs died down and she slowly stopped shaking.

"Did Malfoy trigger this?" Harry asked, his voice strained but strong.

Hermione could only nod.

"Don't go back there," Harry said firmly. "What if I'm not home next time and this happens?"

"It won't," Hermione said, her voice weak and croaky. "I was just caught off guard."

"Hermione, come on."

"No Harry, I'm not going to let this control me. I will face my demons, not flee from them."

"And if the demons are too much for you to handle on your own?"

"Then I have you," Hermione said, giving him a warm smile. "I need a bath."

"Fine."

Harry helped her to stand and then walked with her up the stairs, even though she said she could manage it on her own. Ever protective. Finally soaking in the tub, Hermione let her limbs relax, feeling the satisfying tingle in her muscles. She hated her episodes. Thankfully, she hadn't gotten them quite as frequently lately. They were few and far between. Time and therapy had really done her good. Maybe Harry was right. Malfoy might be too big of a trigger. Not only did he seem unhinged but he was also related to Bellatrix. Though the similarities ended there they were big enough to possibly trigger more episodes later.

So, the real question was: did she continue going, through pure stubbornness and embodying everything that was her Gryffindor courage? Or, did she call it quits, gracefully accepting that this would be too hard for her emotionally and tucking her tail between her legs like a defeated dog.

She knew which option she liked more, but was it the right choice? Most likely not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. This story was previously published on ffn, though still a work in progress I currently have nine chapters written and will be editing and posting them over the course of the next few weeks. I'm knee-deep in assignments at Uni, so I can't promise a set schedule. Lots of love xo


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow two chapters in one day? Does it show how much I don't want to do my uni work? Cuz it should.  
> Warnings: Mentions of depression, death and suicide.

Hermione bunched the fabric of her robes in her fist, holding it as close to her as she could. It was colder down here than usual and she would have complained except no one seemed to care. She was early this time and they hadn't brought Malfoy in yet. Holding her robe with one hand she spread out her files on the table with the other. Yes, she had a mental breakdown after their last meeting, but she was going to power through. No matter what Malfoy thought, or Harry for that matter, this was important. It wasn't just about Malfoy, it was about every other prisoner in Azkaban being treated unfairly and judged from pre-conceived prejudice. Hermione could see it in the eyes of every worker here: the hate and judgement every time a prisoner was taken to a room, or walked down the hall. That kind of thinking, where they weren't people anymore but just a number, just someone that deserved every evil in the universe because of the evil they had done; was poisonous.

A guard opened the door and escorted Malfoy into the room.

"Already here, Ms. Granger?" The guard asked, surprised to see her there so early.

"Obviously," Hermione answered.

Malfoy sat down and the chains fastened themselves around his already bound wrists.

"I'll be just outside the door."

The guard left and Hermione stood quickly and waved her wand, soundlessly locking the door and casting a warming charm on the room.

"Thank Merlin, I was freezing." She took off her robes and hung them on the back of her chair. She was wearing a purple sweater and her usual denims. She had picked muggle clothing on purpose to see if Malfoy had any negative reactions to it. No, it wasn't exactly the best thing to do morally, as if he were an experiment. But she needed to know if his prejudices were still as prominent as they used to be. She had also decided to be exceptionally nice and hope for the best. "How are you, Malfoy?"

"Fine," he said, staring at the files she had spread out on the desk.

"Was your trip here okay?" This was, Hermione had to admit, a very lame attempt at casual conversation. At least it got a reaction out of him.

"What?" Malfoy looked up at her finally and Hermione noticed he didn't linger on her clothes or anything, he hardly seemed to bat an eye at them, his gaze going straight to her face. "What are you doing here Granger?"

"Well if you've forgotten already, I am your lawyer and I'm here to try to get you out of prison."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "That's not what I meant. Why are you still trying? What do I have to do to get you to give up?"

There is nothing you can say or do that will scare me away, Malfoy. I'm here for the long haul, so stop trying to antagonise me or scare me away, it won't work." Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and jutted her chin out.

"Is that a challenge?"

"Most certainly not." Hermione huffed, annoyed at his childish antics. He seemed to enjoy irritating her. "Now, I brought you this." She put down another box of Tupperware in front of him and opened the lid. "I thought we could discuss this like adults over an amicable meal. What do you say?"

Malfoy stared at the food and, with the same blank expression looked back at her face, then lifted his chained hands and shook the steel. "What are you going to do, spoon-feed me?"

Hermione swallowed. "Actually, I was going to slacken your restraints so you could eat." This was the real test. Now, she definitely didn't trust Malfoy, but he was so thin and looked so malnourished she had actually thought about force-feeding him, but thinking that just like a wounded animal he would need to be coaxed to eat with trust and gentleness.

Malfoy didn't react. Didn't raise an eyebrow. Didn't seem shocked at all as Hermione had expected. He simply continued to stare at her.

"Well?" Hermione asked, feeling apprehensive and knowing that this was probably a bad idea.

He raised his arms and Hermione hesitated a little before pointing her wand and flicking it so the ring that held his hands stuck to the table opened. The chain was still fastened to the other end of the table so he wasn't going anywhere but now he had more leg-room. His wrists were still fastened close together, the handcuffs from Azkaban that kept him from using magic stayed on. At first, he did nothing, simply watched his arms raise a little closer to him than he had been able to before. Then his gaze fell to the food next to him and Hermione thought, for a blissful second, that he would start eating it. It was stupid for her to hope he would be civil.

Like a rebellious cat, Malfoy used the back of his hand to slowly edge the bowl off the table, making eye contact with her before throwing it to the floor. Hermione did her best not to show how incredibly pissed off she was and rounded the table to where the food was splattered all across the floor in an orange mess. She held tightly to her wand, flicked it to clean the mess and hover the Tupperware back into her purse. Actually, she felt like she was babysitting or teaching an exceptionally raucous student. Now she understood why Harry was so hesitant to apply for that teaching job. Malfoy continued to sit calmly in his chair, watching her movements. Hermione turned to him and took a step closer.

"Malfoy-"

He shot up out of his chair and without warning his hands were fastened around her throat. Hermione was shocked and stared into his grimy face as he tightened his hold. After les than a second Hermione realised what was happening, clenched her hand around her wand and pointed it at his temple. Malfoy closed his eyes and Hermione felt him shiver. She wasn't sure what was going on but his tight hold on her throat slackened the tiniest bit.

"Get off me," she said.

Malfoy's eyes opened again and he brought his face close. "Make me." His expression was almost pleading and Hermione realised that he wanted her to hex him. His shiver... he had gone five years in prison without a touch of magic. He was craving it.

"No," Hermione said, watching him.

His eyebrows scrunched together. "No?" His hold tightened and he pushed her further back against the table.

Hermione wanted to believe that Malfoy wouldn't hurt her, but her courage only went so far. Though she didn't think he would hurt her while they were at a stalemate, she also knew he craved the feel of magic. What could she do? She tired to think of a spell that wasn't harmful but would maybe let him feel magic. Hermione couldn't imagine how horrible it would be to live without magic for so long. She settled on a scourgify on his face. Though it wouldn't clean him properly it would give him a taste of magic.

Malfoy closed his eyes when the magic touched his face. His hands around her neck slackened again while he basked in the feel of it. Hermione continued doing it, small bits at a time, aiming at a patch of dirt here and there on his face. His hands left her throat and instead steadied himself on the table's edge. When there was nothing more for Hermione to clean, she lowered her wand and simply watched him. Malfoy, feeling that she stopped, slowly sank back down in his chair and stared at the floor.

Hermione touched her throat and swallowed. It didn't hurt, so that was good. Malfoy said something under his breath that Hermione couldn't hear. Cautiously she leaned closer to hear him.

"What?"

"LEAVE!" Malfoy bellowed and Hermione stumbled back, pushing the table and the feet of it scratched the floor. The chain rattled and pulled Malfoy off the chair and he landed on his knees on the floor. "Fucking... go."

Hermione watched his shoulders shake and realised he was crying. She didn't know how to handle this or how to go about it. She could leave, let him wallow in his own heartache or self-pity. Or, she could stay and try to comfort him. Something she knew he wouldn't like or want. But... Hermione couldn't leave him there like that. She was a compassionate person. Hermione dropped to her knees on the floor beside him, hesitant to do much of anything. She was genuinely frightened of him. His outbursts showed how volatile he was, how unpredictable he could be. But he was still a boy, no, a man that had been shown discourtesy, shown nothing but contempt for too long.

Hermione reached out and rested her hand on his, but he snatched them away and shuffled closer to the table until he could lean his forehead against it. "Don't touch me." His voice was weak and shaking, but it held no malice.

"Okay," Hermione said, nibbling on her lip. "I only want to help you, Malfoy."

"I don't want your help."

"Why not?"

Malfoy closed his eyes and Hermione could see a tear try to spill from his eyes before he shook his head, his hair hiding his face from view.

"Please talk to me," Hermione said. "I know I'm just a... a mudblood in your eyes and not worth your time or whatever but-"

"That's not it Granger," Malfoy said, his voice raspy and harsh. "I don't... I don't think that way anymore."

"Then what...?"

He shook his head. "I don't want your help Granger because you've never failed at anything you've taken on."

Hermione furrowed her brows. "Why is that a bad thing?" Malfoy stayed silent and that's when it hit her, hard and horrifying; Malfoy wanted to die. Hermione wanted to say something, anything to help him. To tell him that his life was worth something, that it was worth living, worth saving. But she could also see what he was feeling. Five years in Azkaban. Five years to think about what you've done, what you are to everyone you see, the horrible hatred in their eyes, the hopelessness of everyday life. Lingering on when you don't want to. What was appealing about that? "Oh." That was it, that was all she could say.

"I don't need your goddamn pity, Granger. And I definitely don't want your help."

Hermione pursed her lips. "Well too bad." she got up and hit his shoulder. "Get up."

Malfoy looked up at her indignant, his face was blotchy from crying. Hermione adamantly ignored it.

"I said, get up. You will not wallow like this. I won't allow you to."

"You won't allow me to?" He spat, pushing himself up, obviously uncomfortable with her having the high ground.

"No," Hermione said, straightening her spine and pushing her shoulders back, as if she could pretend to reach his height. "I am your lawyer and obviously the only person capable of pulling you out of this depression."

Malfoy scoffed. "Don't act like you care Granger."

Now she allowed herself to look at him with pity. "But I do care." She shook her head. "Malfoy, despite all the horrible things in our past, I don't hold that against you anymore. We were all victims of the war, some of both wars. I've had five years to cope and learn to handle it. While you've had five years of seclusion with nothing but negativity thrown your way."

"You don't get to analyse me."

"I'm not trying to, or at least I'm just trying to understand. I'm trying to fight for what's right in this world Malfoy. I want to help those that need it and you do. No matter how much you want to deny it."

"There's no point Granger." Malfoy sat down in his chair again. "Don't let me tarnish your reputation."

"Reputation?"

"Yeah, your probably spotless list of won cases as a lawyer."

"Oh, that." Hermione felt guilty not telling him that she wasn't technically a lawyer yet. "I'm not worried about that. I spend my time thinking about more important things, like your case and how we're going to win it."

Malfoy sighed. "You are annoyingly stubborn, anyone mention that to you before?"

"Maybe a few times," Hermione said, with a small smile. She flicked her wand to move the desk to its original place and fasten his chains again. "It's gotten me through hard times. It will get you through yours."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. This story was originally published on ffn, but is still a wip.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione has a tough conversation with Ron while trying to right more wrongs committed against Malfoy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter (completely new!), differs from original work on ffn - but will be updated there as well. The chapter has gotten longer folks and I hope better? Please let me know your thoughts <3 you are all amazing

Hermione walked down from her room to the kitchen at Grimmauld place and stopped in her tracks in the doorway. “Ron,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

“You’re not returning my messages.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Aha,” Ron said, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter.

Hermione put her briefcase on the kitchen table. She didn’t need this today. “I’m working a case-”

“Ah a case, you mean the one you’ve been obsessed over for three years?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, and I’m not obsess-”

“You can’t just ignore me Hermione. It’s not going to make anything go away, not to mention it isn’t healthy.”

Hermione scoffed. “Is that what your shrink says?”

Ron’s expression hardened. “It’s what our shrink said. You can’t just keep running away from your problems, we need to speak about this. Why didn’t you answer my messages?”

“I told you, I’ve been busy.”

“Harry has answered my messages and he’s busy too, that’s not an excuse Hermione.”

“I have to go.” Hermione picked up her briefcase and turned but Ron grabbed her arm to stop her.

“I can’t believe I’m the one being practical here, that was always your thing.” His tone was soft and his grip on her slackened. “Please Hermione, just talk to me. I don’t bite.”

Hermione took a deep breath. “I’m not comfortable speaking about my emotions, I need time to think and to figure them out on my own before I can voice them properly. Which I’ve mentioned before.” She rubbed at her cheek and turned to look at him. His face was warm and so kind, she was hit with a pang of nostalgia in her stomach. What she wouldn’t give to still be in love with this man.

“I don’t want you to avoid me though. You matter too much to me to vanish from my life.” Ron lightly touched her cheek. Hermione took a small step back.

“Please don’t.”

Ron let his arm fall down by his side and sighed. “Alright. Can we please talk about this?”

“Okay,” Hermione said, resigned. “Tomorrow, I promise. I do actually have to go because of the case.” she patted a finger on her briefcase. “I don’t have a lot of time with my client.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Your client, right.” He shook his head. “How’s that going?”

“Not as badly as I expected… but not as well as I hoped either.”

“Well,” Ron said. “I know how much your work means to you.”

Hermione tried to not let it sting too bad. How badly she had disappointed him. How hard they had fallen because of her. How awful it was to watch him try so hard to mend what was irreparably broken.

“Goodbye Ron.”

Hermione walked out of Grimmauld place, resigned to apparate and take the visitors entrance instead of the floo to the ministry. She pushed Ron out of her mind, just like she had done the past month and a half. Denial was her best coping mechanism. Ignorance was bliss, and it’s amazing how easily the mind can decide what to ignore: feelings, memories, pain. When Hermione had gotten psychological help after the war, there were many things she sought help for. Her PTSD, the grief and insurmountable loss. She was told her biggest problems were not her fears but how she coped with conflict.

“You bottle everything inside, it eats at you, but you ignore it. Ignoring it will not fix it, but help it create a larger hole within you.”

“It doesn’t feel like that though, it helps me get through the day. Like you said, take one step at a time, live in the now,” Hermione said.

“Yes, but that does not mean hide the past in order to survive the present. Face the past, face the present, so that the now and the future can be prosperous and thriving.”

Ignorance and denial didn’t feel like what Hermione thought it would. She felt content in her everyday life focusing on her job, on the things she needed to do. It didn’t feel like she was putting the things aside, hiding them, but simply removing what would cause her pain like depression and anxiety. Those things were bad, so why not push them away to be able to get out of bed in the morning? True, it wasn’t healthy. But Hermione didn’t know how else to handle it.

The ministry was bustling with people, as per usual. Hermione and Malfoy’s scheduled meeting had been moved back to around lunch time, the note hadn’t said much else as to why. Hermione tried to smile to the people that passed her, some she recognized as acquaintances who now worked at the ministry. She was so sunk in her work after graduation she hadn’t kept close contact with her Hogwarts peers. Perhaps that had been a mistake. She wondered now what they were up to. But back then, she wanted her solitude. Being alone was difficult, but safe. She had Harry and Ron to lean on. Who did they have?

The elevator dinged and she stepped out, listening to the satisfying sound of her heels clicking on the hard concrete floor. There were more guards than usual and when she neared interrogation room number two, the guard stopped her.

“Not here, miss Granger. He’s been moved to room nine.”

“What? Why?”

The guard shrugged. “Mandatory for violent prisoners.”

Hermione furrowed her brows. “Violent?” She marched on, her heels click-clacking as she hurried to door number nine. “What happened?” She asked the two guards that now flanked the door to the room.

“Prisoner Eight-Four-Seven attacked a guard and tried to escape.” The guard grinned. “A pathetic attempt.”

“Truly laughable,” the second guard said. “How the mighty have fallen.”

Hermione shook her head and pushed past them into the interrogation room, sealing the door with a bang and a charm before turning to Malfoy. His wrists were bound as usual, but the chains were shorter than before and now his ankles were bound to the chair. Malfoy’s face was sallow, as before, but now there were dark bruises on his face. Looking closer, his arms were littered in bruises as well. He sat there stock still. She wondered if he were breathing. His gaze was glazed over staring intently at the chair opposite him.

“Malfoy,” Hermione said quietly, approaching the table and setting her briefcase down. “What happened? You attacked a guard, why?”

A puff of air escaped him, as if he would huff an emotionless laugh. “Is that what they said?” His voice was worse than before. He raised his head to lock his gaze with hers and she noticed he had a cut lip.

“What happened?”

“I attacked a guard,” he said his voice steady but robotic.

“Malfoy.” Her stern tone made him look away. She stood, making her way around to where he sat knowing with how bound he was he would be in no position to even try to hurt her. “Why has no one treated you in any way after this?” 

He scoffed. “Help a death eater? You’re even more deranged than I thought.”

“Let me,” she said, kneeling down and taking out her wand.

“No.” He turned his head away from her, shielding his face with his hair. “Let me rot.”

Hermione took a moment to look at him, to see this broken man in front of her and wonder how she could possibly try to help him. How do you help someone who has given up on himself? How can you mend something so irreparably broken?

Cautious, Hermione reached her other hand up to move his hair from his face. Malfoy flinched when she barely grazed his cheek and she made sure not to touch him after that. With her other hand she aimed her wand at his bruises and did the best she could with the few healing spells she knew. Most of them she had learned for the horcrux hunt so many years ago. The bruises wouldn’t disappear, the cut didn’t mend itself completely, but the swelling went down, the pain would decrease. She was not a skilled healer but she had a feeling this was all the medical attention Malfoy would be getting and tried her best.

“What really happened?” She asked once she stowed her wand away.

Malfoy took a deep, gulping breath, and Hermione could almost see how submerged he had been and close to drowning. She needed to save him. She had to.

“They were moving me from Azkaban, and a guard pushed me out to the hall, where I stumbled and fell on a guard walking down the hall. He toppled over with me. They then pinned me to the ground, punched and kicked me for assaulting a guard.”

Hermione took a breath and then moved back and sat down in her chair. “Tell me about it.” She took a piece of paper and a quill.

“What, why?”

“We have to write down a report on this, it might help the case.”

Malfoy shook his head. “They won’t believe me. It’s their words against mine. There are at least six witnesses to this, who I’ll bet will all say the same thing.”

“I’m writing this down Malfoy. Maybe it will help us in the trial, maybe it won’t. But I want to be prepared for everything and this is going against the law. Tell me about it.”

It was the first time Malfoy spoke for a long period of time and Hermione appreciated how rare that was. She wrote down his account of the events and noted down where he said his injuries were and then she documented the bruises she had fixed and the ones she hadn’t known about until he told her. She tried to help with those too, but without dittany or a more experienced healer, there wasn’t much she could do about a fractured rib.

Hermione left the interrogation room with renewed purpose. She was going to get Malfoy out of Azkaban, away from the prejudice he faced, away from abusive guards who took matters into their own hands. Nothing more than bullies getting their kicks out of someone in no position to fight back. Hermione had a fire. It left the usual tingling feeling of excitement in her gut. She had a goal and no one would stand in her way.

***

Hermione wove her way through the ministry lobby and into the lifts. Somehow Ron had managed to persuade her to go to lunch with him. She wasn’t thrilled. Actually, she was dreading it and the knot she had in her stomach from last night had only woven itself tighter. It was as if her intestines were trying to strangle themselves. Hermione stepped out of the lift and went to the Auror offices. There was no hustle and bustle, people sat at their desks, some lounging with their legs resting on the tabletop, others milling about the coffee machine. She walked over to Harry’s office and knocked twice on the open door frame.

“I see it’s very busy,” she said, noting how Harry was sitting slumped at his desk. He looked up and she felt such utter sympathy towards him. She sighed and closed the door, stepping in and walking to his desk. “I’m here to meet Ron,” she said tentatively. “But you look like you’re on death’s door.”

Harry sighed. “Thanks, always nice to know my suffering is obvious.”

“Why don’t you quit Harry? You hate it here.”

He shook his head. “No. It’s just been a rough couple of-”

“Years,” Hermione shot in. “This isn’t normal. This isn’t just a rut Harry.” He looked at her and she could see how incredibly weary he was. She stepped around and gave her friend a hug. Harry wrapped his arms around her middle and she moved her hand to the back of his head. “You’re not going to be letting anyone down if you’re not an Auror.”

He sighed deeply against her and tightened his hold. “I feel like such a coward.”

Hermione smiled. “Not a coward,” she said, moving her hand through his hair. “You put too much pressure on yourself. You don’t have to live up to anyone’s legacy. You’ve proven you’re a great wizard already, multiple times over. Why can’t that be enough?”

He chuckled. “Ever take your own advice?”

Hermione shook her head. “Very rarely.”

“Right.” He took a deep breath and pulled away from her, she took a step back observing the many strewn about papers on his desk. “What are you meeting Ron for then?”

“We’re going out to lunch,” she said with a wince. “He wants to talk.” She picked up a quill and twisted it in her fingers.

“Will I be able to hang out with both of you together after this talk?”

“I don’t know Harry,” she said with a sigh. “He’ll probably hate me after this lunch…”

“Ron couldn’t hate you,” he said, snatching the quill from her hand and putting it back. “He’s incapable.”

“I think you’ll find he’s quite capable of hating a lot of things.”

“Sure, but not you. He might be upset but he’ll get over it and come back to us, he did before.”

Hermione stared at the floor and nodded numbly. Yes, Ron had come back before. After abandoning them. This definitely wasn’t the same, because this time she was abandoning him. He had redeemed himself, mostly, I mean what could you really blame a man for when he’s holding a sword wet to the bone pleading for your forgiveness? No? Now he was giving her a chance to come back, to redeem herself. But there wouldn’t be any redemption.

There was a knock on his door and then it pushed open.

“Ah, Fitz said he saw you pop in here. You ready to go to lunch?” Ron was looking at her with his warm smile, that little dimple moving the freckles on his cheek.

“Yup,” she lied. She turned to Harry and gave him a wave. “Think about it,” she whispered to him before heading out the door Ron kept open for her. She tried not to think about the fact that she couldn’t squeeze through without grazing his chest. She needed to stay level-headed. Detached.

“I found a place just a block down the street, in muggle London, that I thought you might like. It has these funny still pictures on the walls.”

“Okay,” she said, trying for a neutral and steady voice. They exited the ministry and walked on the pavement, and she listened to Ron’s small talk. The weather was really getting better wasn’t it? Blimey, did you see the size of that pigeon?

They reached a quaint little coffee shop that had artsy photographs on the walls, most in black and white. Ron led her to a table and then said he would be right back. When he returned he set a large cup in front of her, smiling as he told her he ordered for her. She would have thought it was sweet except she couldn’t imagine stomaching coffee with how knotted her intestines were.

“So I’ve been working on being more straight forward, you know how I had a hard time expressing myself,” Ron said with a small chuckle.

Hermione tried to give him a slight smile and picked up her latte, bringing it to her lips and forcing herself to sip it. The offending liquid made her feel queasy on top of her nerves. She set the cup down and tried to ground herself by spreading her palm on the table. Feeling the grain against her fingertips. Ron’s hand suddenly covered hers and she stiffened but stayed still. Her eyes found his and the endearing and loving look in his eyes felt like a punch to the gut.

“Hermione,” he said. “I want us to try again. I miss you. I’ve been working on myself a lot lately and I just feel like I’m not happy without you.”

Hermione shook her head. “Ron-”

“I miss your cold feet when we’re in bed,” he persevered. “The wrinkle between your eyebrows when you’re concentrating. The way you read books all the time.” He chuckled. “Come back to me Hermione, let’s start the life together we always envisioned.”

Hermione took a shaky breath and turned her hand around to take his, she gave it a soft squeeze and then moved her hand away. “Ron, as lovely as all of that sounds, and I’ve missed you too… there’s nothing for us to try again.”

“What do you mean? We can fight this.”

“Fight what Ron?” She said exasperated. “By the end everything we did annoyed the other. We barely spent time together, and we can play the blame game but that won’t do anyone any good.”

“I still want to try working on it.”

Hermione shook her head. “I can’t work on anything Ron, I…” She rubbed over her face, trying to get some life into herself, get courage, hell just feel something other than dread and nausea. “I don’t love you anymore.”

That seemed to catch him off guard, he fell back against the back of his chair as if she had hit him across the face. She watched his face, couldn’t look away from the rapid minute changes to his expression. The hurt in his eyes, the slackness of his jaw slowly turning to tightness.

“I thought,” he started but stopped himself. “Well obviously I thought wrong.” He shook his head, staring down at the table now. Then he slammed his fists down on it, their cups rattled and coffee spilled on the table. Hermione’s eyes widened and she looked around at the people who were glancing at them. She swallowed, she did not feel comfortable out in public like this. Oh god, was she having another panic attack? She could feel something bubbling up her throat. “You said we had things to work on, that there were reasons for us breaking up so I worked on them,” Ron said, insistent. He leaned forward now, pushing his index finger into the table for emphasis. “I went to a therapist, I fixed my temper, I think things through now and that was all for you!” He hissed at her.

“Ron, those things should have been for yourself, it’s great that you’re bettering yourself but that shouldn’t be for someone else.”

“So you just spouted some bullshit at me, is that it?” His tone was so bitter, so hurt, Hermione couldn’t stomach it. Was her coffee making its way back up?

“Ron please,” she said quietly.

“I did everything… all of it was for you Hermione, because we’re meant to be together, everything we’ve been through-”

“Has fucked us up royally!” Hermione cut in, clearing her throat and lowering her voice. “Ron we’re not meant to be together, we’re all we know. It’s comfortable. That doesn’t mean it’s right. Please just think about it, you don’t want to be in a relationship with someone that doesn’t love you back. I can’t do that to you.”

“You loved me before, why… you can love me again Hermione. I can show you how good I am, how well I can treat you.” He tried reaching for her hand again and this time she pulled it into her lap away from him.

“It’s not about that Ron. It’s not about you or anything you did or have done or will do. It’s me. This is just how I feel. And I’m so sorry, I wish I could take your hand and we could have our happily ever after but that’s not real. We’re not living a fairy tale. I’m not yours.”

His jaw was completely clenched and he got up, scraping the chair legs against the wooden floor. “No. You’re not mine.” He turned to leave but then quickly whipped around to face her again. “You’re saying there’s nothing I can do to be with you when I was the one that did everything in our relationship, I tried so hard to be what you wanted but nothing was ever enough for you. Try being less selfish in the future Hermione.” He shook his head then turned and left her sitting alone at the table. She could feel a lot of eyes on her and knew she had to leave quickly before she had a full on panic or vomited on the floor.

Hermione walked briskly out the door of the café, ignoring the stares through the window as she passed it. She half-jogged to the nearest alley she could find. There was no way to hold it in anymore and she bent around a bin and vomited all of her breakfast, the coffee and the anxiety she had rummaging around in her stomach. She watched in disgust as it slowly dripped down the cobbles in the alley. Next moment she closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing but it was no good. Not sure if she could apparate in her condition she stayed there, leaning over her own puke feeling dirty and disgusting, which had nothing to do with her being sick. Once she had regained her breathing, relaxed enough she moved further up the alley into the darkness cast by the two buildings, with shaky hands she grabbed her wand, trying for stability and apparated home for a long good bath and soaking her aching sobs into her bones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me and reading my story, I so appreciate it. This is still a WIP, though I had written up to 9 chapters on ffn the rest of the story might get a good rework as I edit things to post onto here.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mention of PTSD, PTSD episodes and reactions, talk about torture, raised voices. Small violence (a singular punch to the back).
> 
> Dunno if any of these warnings are helpful, but I feel like I should be sensitive to whatever might come up.

It was quiet inside interrogation room nine. Hermione was periodically writing down specifics for the trial. Malfoy was silent, as was mostly his custom in these sessions. Hermione, though scribbling, was uncomfortably distracted. Half-way through a sentence she would stop and forget where she was going with it. Her mind kept wandering to her get-together with Ron the week before. It had been amicable enough, if amicable meant that no one resorted to throwing things at the other and expletives were nowhere to be found. They still disagreed about the ending of their relationship. Ron was understandably hurt, but he didn’t understand. Hermione’s feelings for him hadn’t just vanished in a puff of smoke, so to speak. Over time they simply dulled into a numb kind of feeling. Kissing him, at the end, had felt the same as kissing a wall, or a pillow. It wasn’t his fault, Hermione still cared for him dearly, even loved him, but it wasn’t the same kind of love as it had been before.

Hermione sighed as she had to start another sentence over again. _My client was in a stressful state of mind-_ no, that wouldn’t work. _He was coerced-_ hardly substantial at a trial.

“I’m sorry.”

Hermione looked up slowly. Malfoy was in the same position as before; blankly staring past her at the wall, his mouth closed. She turned to check if there was someone else in the room, possibly apologising for intruding, but there was no one.

“Did you say something?” She said.

“I’m sorry.”

This time she saw his lips move as he spoke, it hadn’t been her imagination. Hermione set her quill down carefully, clasped her hands together in front of her, and tried to steel herself to all possible outcomes of this.

“What are you sorry for?”

His eyes finally focused on hers, though it still felt like he was looking through her. “For every ill will I did you in the past. Hexes, taunts… the bullying. I am- I regret it.”

Hermione’s mouth opened in surprise. She wasn’t expecting this. She swallowed around the dryness in her throat. “What brought this on?”

“I’ve had a long time to think about my life, all the bad… only the bad. I thought I might try to clear some of it away since I can,” he said, gesturing to her in front of him, and the chains bound to his wrists wiggled against the table. “While I still can.”

She sighed. “Malfoy, you’re not going to die. I won’t let that happen.”

“You’ve gotten far in your stubbornness before, Granger, but it won’t help you now. I was stamped with a death sentence when they arrested me. No former death eater or sympathiser has survived going to Azkaban. I’ve watched them be taken one by one, the cells suddenly empty a week or so after a trial. There was no hope left for them, I’m no different.”

“I’m not going to let you give up, this is your life we’re talking about here,” she said.

“It’s not giving up, it’s accepting your fate. The cards are stacked against me, the game is fixed, so there’s no point in playing.”

“No,” Hermione said firmly. “I’m not quitting, it’s not right what’s happening to these people. And they are all still people. A fact everyone else seems only too happy to forget. Four cases before you have landed in favour of the ministry prosecutors, and yes two ended with the kiss, but we can break that streak.” Hermione didn’t add that she thought it was fishy how easily those cases had been won, and that something definitely smelled rotten when it came to the death eater cases. But she was determined.

“Having a hissy fit in court isn’t going to help my case any.”

“Excuse me?” Hermione curled her fist on the table. “I do not have hissy fits!” Malfoy raised an eyebrow at her and Hermione straightened her back and tried to flatten her hair down a bit, gathering her composure and said in a calmer voice: “I do not have hissy fits.”

They were silent for a moment. “But thank you,” Hermione said. “For your apology.”

Malfoy nodded. “You don’t have to forgive me or anything-”

“Oh I’m not.”

A tiny quiver on the corner of his lips, barely a twitch, but Hermione thought she saw a hint of a smile.

“Okay, good.” Malfoy shook his head. “I just wanted you to know.”

“Well, now I know.”

“Good.”

“Alright.”

There was a knock at the door, nothing more than one rap and the door swung open. Mr. Trist stepped in to the interrogation room. Trist was a tall man, though slender. Hermione wondered he might look a bit like a leaf, if he ever quivered in the wind he might topple over. She wanted to be that wind. Trist did not observe the room, did not look anywhere except at Hermione.

“Miss Gringer, a word.”

Hermione pursed her lips and said “It’s Granger,” under her breath before getting up and stepping out with him. “What is it, Mr. Trist?”

“I’m required to ask you to make a report concerning prisoner eight-four-seven, seeing as he was moved to a high security interrogation room. You need to list any aggressive behaviours. Is he hostile? Has he shown any violent tendencies in your sessions?”

“Uhm,” she said, thinking back to when he practically choked her on the table. “Not in my presence, no.” Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. “And I feel like him being in room nine is a bit over the top.”

“He attacked several Azkaban guards, you feel it’s over the top, I call it necessity.”

Hermione scoffed. “Oh please, we both know he didn’t attack any guards.”

“I don’t like your tone, miss Gringer.” Trist tilted his head to the side, as if she had shrunk down half her size and being scolded like a child. “These are quite the allegations. Are you saying that the guards lied?”

"No,” Hermione said through pursed lips. “Of course not.”

“See to it to finish making a report on the goings on in your sessions. I need it on my desk before next week, you know, for the evaluation.” Trist grinned and his ever punchable teeth practically shone to mock her.

“Evaluation?”

“Oh, right, I forgot - you’re not a real lawyer, a pity.” Trist shook his head and sighed, quite dramatically. “All prisoners need to have a psych evaluation before their trial. So that we can determine how stable or unstable they might be in a courtroom. To take appropriate precautionary measures.”

“I’ll get you the report,” Hermione said stiffly.

“Good.” Trist turned around to walk away. “The cage takes two men to lift and I want at least two weeks notice.”

Hermione wanted to yell at him, or throw things, but instead she settled for a very childish finger to his back as he walked away, sticking out her tongue. That man riled her up like nobody’s business. She turned back to the interrogation room.

“Sorry about that,” she said.

“A psych eval,” Malfoy said.

Hermione sighed. “Yes, apparently so.” She rubbed at her forehead. She had completely forgotten about that, and needed to make sure she didn’t have any more slip ups. “But it’s going to be alright, we’ll have you prepared for it.”

Malfoy shook his head. “They’ll have me in a cage. All death eaters do their trials that way. My father…” he swallowed. “And others.”

“But you weren’t a death eater,” she said firmly. “You were a kid, nothing but a pawn-”

“Stop it.”

“What?”

“That’s all bullshit. I was a death eater, end of story.”

“Malfoy-”

“No!”

Hermione jumped a bit in her chair and swallowed. “Please, calm down, just-”

“No,” he said forcefully, with a bite to his tone. A threatening sort of finality. “I bear the mark, I committed crimes, witnessed foul things that I didn’t even try to stop.”

“You would have been killed if you had tried to stop any of it,” Hermione quickly shot in. “The circumstances were impossible.”

“Well maybe I should have died then!” Malfoy shot up out of his chair, then jolted because of the bonds on his wrists and curled his lip up at them. “Instead of doing nothing.” He yanked hard at his chain, which obviously pained him. “Like a coward.”

Hermione took a deep, albeit shaky, breath and then stood up carefully. Overly aware of how her legs shook by the memory flashing in her mind of him standing by as she was tortured on his living room floor. “There was nothing you could have done,” she said as calmly as she could.

He scoffed. “There were a million things I could have done, Granger. A million variables that would have meant more than just standing still and watching. As if I were nailed to the floor seeing these people be tortured, watching them scream, plead, and wish for any kind of relief. Watching them bleed on the floor.”

“Stop, please.”

“Watching them pay for the made up crimes plastered to their names because of a mad mans’ idea of heritage, of royalty, of blood.”

Hermione closed her eyes to the onslaught of images. Her hair splayed across the hardwood floors and the weight of someone pinning her down. She couldn’t breathe, there was no room for her ribs to expand. Please, please, I don’t know anything, please. Then a hot breath in her ear: liar. And the searing pain splitting her every vein. The life being sucked out of her through a blade that scarred her arm forever. Hermione screamed the air out of her lungs, expelling all breath from her body.

In a flash two guards were in the interrogation room. One flew to Malfoy, grasping his arm and shoulder, pushing him face first onto the table and holding him down by the back of his head. The other came to Hermione to help her up. She was on the floor, how did she get there?

“Are you alright, miss?”

Hermione’s breath was coming in fast spurts, her whole body was quaking. She glanced at Malfoy who was struggling against the guard who told him to be still and subsequently punched him in the back. Malfoy groaned but slackened his muscles to be still. “Y-yes, I’m alright.”

“What happened, did he attack you?”

“What?” Hermione looked at the guard, who held no compassion in his gaze, but stared with contempt at Malfoy.

“Get him out of here,” the guard said and Malfoys’ chains were released from the table and instead the chains around his ankles and wrists linked together and he was pulled up, a new bruise forming on his cheek.

“Wait,” Hermione said weakly as he was escorted out with more force than she thought necessary. But it was difficult to speak, difficult to breathe. She’d had an episode. She needed to get back to Grimmauld.

***

Getting through the floo while forcing her legs steady was a battle. Once through to Grimmauld she calmly took her coat off and let it fall to the floor. Her eyes were glazed over, her movements mechanical. She was in the kitchen now, the tap running in front of her into an empty basin. Hermione stood in front of it for minutes, not moving, not seeing. Her hands moved under the water and splashed droplets over her face. By the time she turned the tap off her clothes were soaked, water dripping down her chin and fingers to the floor.

Next thing she knew she was lying in the bathtub - how did she get here? There was no water in the tub except for the tiny amount still leaking off of her clothes. The buzzing in her ears was too loud to hear anything around her, there was nothing except her heartbeat, loud and obnoxious, and the buzzing. Always the buzzing.

She rest her forehead on the cold tile and closed her eyes to the noise. She did not want to succumb to the memories and the horrors. It wasn’t always a trip down memory lane, sometimes it was just the clenching in her stomach, a knot that wouldn’t go away. A nervousness, like a frightened mouse jumping and hiding at every passing shadow. Today it was numbness. This time she felt nothing around her, she was in a shell inside her own head incapable of espacing.

When she opened her eyes she was lying in her own bed, three layers of blankets on top of her, the topmost one a patchwork quilt from Molly Weasley - a christmas gift from two years since.

Hermione moved her hand from under the covers and stroked the images of the quilt, letting herself feel the tiny bumps of seams on her fingertips. Finally she could breathe. Because it was over. There was nothing to flee or hide from, no war or chase or search for things to destroy. No enemies come to take them away.

Her eyes focused beyond the blankets and saw Harry slumped in her reading chair, flipping through a book. She wondered when he had gone home and how long he had taken care of her while she was stuck in her mind.

“Harry?”

He looked up, setting his book down carefully he slowly got up and walked over to her, making sure not to make sudden movements - he had learned this a long time ago.

“You’re back,” he said, sitting down on the bed, taking her hand in his. “You came back quicker than last time.”

Hermione nodded with a shudder. “How long?”

“Five hours,” Harry said. “I tried all the tricks, I suppose they worked. I didn’t know the trigger but I could guess.”

“Harry…”

“I know,” he said. “I won’t try to talk you out of it. But you know how I feel. This is dangerous and unhealthy.”

Hermione moved her other hand over her face, then put it on top of their joined hands. “Thank you,” she said. “I may not have it under control but…”

“You’re managing.”

She nodded. “I’m so-”

“Don’t apologise Hermione, we all have demons we have to fight. I’m just relieved I was here so you didn’t have to fight yours alone.”

“I should go do work…”

Harry shook his head. “I think you should rest, drink some tea, eat biscuits and lots of chocolate - Lupins’ orders,” he said with a grin, standing up. “And then you can do work.”

Hermione huffed out a laugh and nodded, letting Harry go downstairs to fetch her some tea and biscuits. She let her head relax onto her pillow, stretching her hands over the blankets, feeling the soft material against her skin. Letting it soothe her as her heart raced with every minute Harry did not return. But then he did, and she could breathe again.

After an appropriate amount of time for a rest period - well, an approved minimum rest time by Harry Potter’s standards - Hermione grabbed her case files and rifled through the pages to find the psych evaluation forms.

There was too much to do.

Too many things to work on to make it happen.

And only six weeks till the trial.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I am adoring all of the kudos and the few comments I receive are filling me with joy. Uni has started up again (after assignments) so I should have more time to post these chapters... hopefully.


	6. Chapter 6

The lift ascended past the many levels of Azkaban prison, creaking excessively. Hermione shivered at a particularly loud and jarring noise from the walls, but tried her best to hold her composure as she stood next to the guard. Everything felt claustrophobic about this place. The building specifically designed to make you want to be anywhere but there and Hermione most decisively did not want to be there. Thankfully the ministry had banned the use of dementors in the prison, but it was as if the gloom had seeped into the walls and permeated through the building. The lift groaned to a halt and she followed the guard out. There was another gate she had to walk through and she was checked for the third time that she definitely wasn’t carrying a wand.

“Miss Granger, my name is Derilt I’m head guard on level seven.” Derilt was a man of around forty years old, wearing the dark grey Azkaban guard uniform in a size too small for his protruding beer belly. Hermione assumed the guard didn’t involve himself in a lot of skirmishes in the prison, and probably delegated his punishments to the younger guards. “As you know no magic is allowed on the premises and any casting of spells is prohibited. You signed a paper upon your arrival agreeing to these terms, correct?”

“Yes, sir.” Derilt seemed to eye her for a minute as if he didn’t believe or trust her.

“This isn’t Gringotts bank, miss Granger. There will be no break-outs or fool-hardy half-thought out plans. Is that understood?”

Hermione pursed her lips. “Of course.” Naturally that was being held against her. As if she were stupid enough to try to orchestrate a break-out of Azkaban prison.

“Good,” Derilt said, picking up a baton from his guard post and walking ahead of her through the doors of level seven. “Visiting times are strict and there will be no extensions and no exceptions. You will stay at least six feet away from the prison cell and two guards will be present at all times.” He stopped in front of a gate and waved to a guard on the other side. Derilt knocked on five bars in what seemed like a random order and whispered something to the guard on the other side. The guard, a dark skinned young man probably around Hermione’s age, opened the gate.

“Good luck miss Granger,” Derilt said, nodding to her. “I will be escorting you back after your visit.” He then gestured for her to go through the gate.

Hermione only nodded and passed through, letting the dark skinned guard guide her through the maze of halls and cells. She couldn’t see the occupants of the cells, but the further in the hall they went the stronger she could smell them. It seemed the prison guards didn’t hire any cleaners because the floors were blotchy with grime and blood. Spiders and insects scuttled on the floor into nooks and crannies in the brick walls. The guard stopped by a door and knocked on it in a sequence. Another guard opened it, glanced at Hermione, nodded to the guard and gestured her through.

Walking down this new hallway where she could see the prisoners in their cells was uncomfortable for Hermione. As if she hadn’t been nervous enough. As if the whole air to this prison wasn’t suffocating on its own. She wondered if the prisoners got to bathe, and if they even got to use soaps. She glanced to the side at an elderly prisoner who sat on the floor staring at the opposite wall. He sat cross-legged with his arms stretched out rubbing the floor in front of him. He was muttering to himself and Hermione wondered how long the man had been in Azkaban and suspected he had been here while the dementors still roamed free. Hermione shivered at the thought and was glad at least for the fact that those creatures no longer lurked these halls.

The third cell from the back wall was Malfoy’s. She halted her steps in front of the bars, keeping behind the painted white line on the floor indicating the six feet distance. Malfoy was standing in his cage and he reminded her of a dog, listening for sounds. When the clicking of her heels on the stone floor ceased, his head twitched as if to accommodate for the silence. He did not turn to look at her, but kept his gaze on the pathetic little cot in the corner. His cell was like everyone else's, the size reminding Hermione of her room at Grimmauld, except without the bars… and the… unpleasant bowl tucked under the bed. There was little else in the small space; a cot with a single blanket and a flat pillow, a sink and an empty food tray lying on the floor.

Hermione glanced at the guard standing in the corner and the other guard that stood at a small distance further up the hall, both with their hands clasped in front of them with stony gazes. They weren’t watching her, but Hermione had the sense that her conversation wouldn’t be very private.

“Malfoy?” She said, moving her gaze to his thin form inside the cell.

“Granger.” He replied, his voice gruff.

Hermione swallowed around the lump in her throat. She had wrung her brain about how to approach him after what happened last time. She had decided on what to say, wrote it down like a script and memorised it. But now, facing him, it was as if it all disappeared to nothing. “I’m sorry,” she blurted out. “I have…” she took a deep breath, realising she was about to admit to this not only in front of two prison guards and a bunch of prisoners, but to Draco fucking Malfoy of all people. “I have episodes sometimes. I can’t control it. I’m sorry you got caught in the crossfire of that. But I’m trying to sort it out now. It was a misunderstanding and hopefully we can be back in interrogation room two by next week.” She puffed out the last of her breath, glad to have gotten that all off her chest in a hurry.

“Okay,” Malfoy said.

Hermione stared at him, having expected a lot more. But, she supposed, expecting anything from Malfoy might be a foolish endeavour. Up until now all his actions had been random and erratic, definitely not predictable.

“Right,” she said, clearing her throat awkwardly. “That’s what I wanted to say.”

“Okay,” he said again.

“Yes.” Hermione rubbed her arm. Her green wooly coat felt itchy and she was doubting her choice of clothing for the visit. Perhaps it had been a conscious decision to wear green, to try to have Malfoy feel more at ease with the old Slytherin house colours, but Hermione wouldn’t admit that to anyone if they asked. Sadly, the only green coat she owned was a wool one gifted to her by her aunt who meant well but didn’t know about Hermione’s intolerance to the fabric. So it had stayed in her closet and eventually found its way into a box at Grimmauld place. During a good hour of digging around in boxes Hermione had found it and hastily put it on before her departure.

“I’ve gotten some guidelines to prep for the psych eval, and I’ve written my own report that I’ll hand in tomorrow,” she said, wanting to fill the uncomfortable silence. She didn’t want it to look like she wasn’t prepared for the visit. She was a professional, or at least trying to be. “Should be all done and dusted by Friday next.” She glanced at the guards before she carefully edged her toes to the white painted line, the tips of her sensible black heels grazing the paint. “Is there anything I can get you for our next meeting at the ministry? I noted you weren’t much interested in stew.”

Malfoy still hadn’t moved or torn his gaze from the small cot. Hermione watched him for movements and wondered if he had turned to stone since she arrived. His hands seemed tense by his sides, although they were not clenched. His whole frame reminded her of the string of a bow being pulled taut, still but ready to strike in a sense, all he needed was an arrow. In the silence that followed she tried to remember what he had looked like back in school. She thought back to the haughty boy he had been, with his aristocratic nose turned up at the people around him, not worth his notice. His shoulders would have been pulled back, but he always seemed laid back despite it, as if the weight of his family name could never push him down. Until sixth year, when his frame had bent forward and the mischievous glint in his eye dwindled and turned into purple bags weighed down from sleepless nights.

“Do you sleep?” Hermione hadn’t meant to voice her wonderings aloud, but it rang out loud and clear anyway. This seemed to jolt Malfoy a little, bringing a twitch to his fingers.

“Not really,” he replied and his body slowly sunk to sit on the cot that creaked under his weight.

“Visiting hours are over!”

Hermione jumped at the sudden loud announcement. The dark skinned guard walked over to her and gestured for her to leave. Hermione took one last look at Malfoy’s bent form, sitting on the sunken cot staring at the ground, and then walked back through the hall and gate to Derilt.

“Hope your visit was satisfactory,” Derilt said with a drip of derision. “We won’t have that one in here for long.” He smirked and nodded to the dark skinned guard as if they were in on a joke.

“No,” Hermione agreed. “He won’t be.”

***

When Hermione stepped over the threshold of 12 Grimmauld Place she wished for nothing more than a steaming cup of hot cocoa and to throw her green woolen coat in the fire. She settled on the former as the latter would be too messy to deal with. Azkaban prison was not a place she wished to frequent or ever go to again. Once through to the living room she shed her coat and threw it carelessly onto a sunken-in armchair and briskly walked to the kitchen. But her plans for a cup of cocoa were quickly snuffed out.  
In her kitchen stood a man, his brown hair was cut short and neat leaving the back of his neck exposed. He wore expensive wizards clothes, a waistcoat and shirt, almost casual without a jacket or robes. The man turned round, moving a mug to his mouth - HER mug. He didn’t seem at all surprised or fazed by her presence and merely leisurely sipped from her mug, eyeing her with an air of someone always at ease wherever they went.

“Good to see you again Granger,” he said and it seemed to jolt Hermione’s brain to work again.

“What on earth-” She shook her head. “Why…” She simply couldn’t seem to fathom what was going on or how she should react. Was she supposed to pull out her wand and be scared for her safety? Or simply baffled that Theodore Nott was in her kitchen? “What are you doing in my kitchen?”

“Ahh, such lovely greetings,” he said, taking another long sip. “I’m having tea, would you like some?”

Hermione opened her mouth but nothing came out except a childish: “That’s my mug.”

“So it is,” Nott agreed. “Quite a lovely one as well. You have good taste.”

“What is happening, did I fall down a rabbit hole without noticing?”

“Funny,” he said, and actually gave a smile like he meant it, even if his tone of voice said otherwise. “Though I imagine it would be difficult to fall down into rabbit holes as they can be quite small.”

“It’s a muggle reference…” she said lamely.

“That would explain it.”

“I found it!” Came Harry’s voice from the stairs. “It was behind the boxes in that room on the second floor.” Harry came into the kitchen holding a dark blue knitted scarf. “Oh Hermione,” he said and she saw his cheeks redden. “I uhm… hi.”

“Hi,” she said cautiously. “Is that… Nott’s?” She gestured to the scarf.

Harry cleared his throat. “Uhm n-”

“Yes actually,” Nott said, cutting Harry off and taking the scarf away from him, deftly wrapping it around his exposed neck. “No need to compliment me for it, it was a gift.” Nott seemed to give Harry a deliberate look while Harry refused to meet his gaze.

“So Hermione,” Harry said quickly, absently rubbing at his forehead. “Can I talk to you?” He then strode across the kitchen, grabbed her arm and yanked her away into the living room before she even had time to answer.

“Harry James Potter explain yourself,” she said once he had let go of her arm. He had started pacing, still rubbing his forehead near his scar. Hermione crossed her arms as her eyes followed his pacing form.

“It’s not what it looks like,” he started and then cringed. “Or… what does it look like?”

Hermione shook her head. “I don’t know Harry, it looks like there is a stranger in our house, that you let in and seem familiar with?!” She rapidly waved her hands about. “He seems completely at home here as if he’s been here multiple times. So you tell me what it looks like Harry Potter.”

He winced. “Can you please not use my full name…”

“Harry.”

He sighed. “Fine. I… This is hard for me okay? So, you know how Ginny and I split up two years ago?”

“Vividly,” she said. It had been a big deal at the time. The tabloids had so much stuff to write about, slandering Harry one day and Ginny the next for whatever made-up reason sounded the most scandalous. Not to mention Ginny’s absolute stony demeanor, denying any hurt feelings and saying she was fine and it had been a completely amicable break up when she was obviously not fine and eventually broke down after a particularly bad quidditch match in front of a talent scout that lost her a place with the Holy Head Harpies. Hermione had been there to comfort her friend as she finally opened up and cried and asked her why Harry didn’t love her and she couldn’t give her an answer.

“Right,” he said with a painful wince. Hermione knew Harry had also had a bad downward spiral at the time of their breakup. Making a habit of staying up for days at a time, then crashing and having depressive episodes and maniacal rants about evil wizards waiting at the door. It was overall an awful time for all of them.

“The main reason I broke up with Ginny was that I didn’t love her anymore, at least not in the way she loved me and wanted me to love her.” He sighed. “I’ve felt guilty about this for a long time and I’m finally learning to forgive myself but I didn’t know how to broach this subject with you or Ron…” He seemed terrified of the thought of having to tell Ron.

“Harry, you’re my best friend, I’ll support you no matter what you do. As long as it’s not world domination or horcrux making.”

He chuckled. “Thanks, I think.” He stopped pacing and rubbing his forehead. Instead he ran a hand through his hair, tousling it even more than usual. Hermione could see the courage building up in him, always able to see it start in his fingertips and travel like lightning to his heart where his chest would swell with certainty before taking a great big stupid leap of courage. She loved that about Harry, how certain he could be and brave to stick with it.

“Hermione,” he said. “I’m gay. Or at least, I think I am.”

She blinked. Perhaps it wasn’t exactly what she expected but then again, had she ever really thought about it before? She turned the scene from the kitchen around in her head again. “You’re dating Nott?” She asked, her tone more confused than anything else.

“Wait, that’s the first thing you say?” He chuckled. “God Hermione I was kind of expecting a reaction there.” He shook his head. “But uhm, yeah I guess so? Although I wouldn’t really call it dating.” His hand went to rub the back of his neck, obviously uncomfortable with the conversation.

She nodded slowly. “Alright. Well, Harry uhm… I don’t know what kind of reaction you want from me. I’m a little surprised, obviously since you know… actually now that I think about it every time you’ve talked about your previous relationships there’s always been a slight tone in your voice, something off. Like when you talked about the kiss with Cho - and I get it, she was crying, that’s weird and all, but still it’s kissing you know? And- oh my god!” She covered her mouth. “Cedric Diggory invited you to take a bath with him! Did you-?”

Harry shook his head. “No, no, he didn’t invite me he advised me for the task Hermione. I didn’t have an illicit affair with Cedric.”

“Oh, okay then.” She shook that off. “Well yeah, I guess I’m happy for you. That you’re figuring out what you want and all.” She hesitated. “And Theo Nott is what you want?”

“Well,” he said, shrugging. “Kinda, I guess. He seems so casual about it, you know? Like it’s always been obvious and the right thing to do.”

“Wow, that’s a nice way to put it,” Hermione ventured a small smile. Then she let out a breath, as if the heaviness in the conversation was finally off her shoulders and Harry’s chest and something opened up between them again, like a new type of bond. “I’m glad you could tell me that Harry, even if you were sort of forced to share it.”

“Yeah, sorry I couldn’t uhm… that I didn’t tell you about it. I don’t really know what it is or what it means to me and-”

“Harry it’s fine. I don’t need to know everything that happens in your life you know. As long as you feel happy.” She went in for a comforting trademark Harry Potter hug and it did not disappoint. All the stress and awful things she had been feeling from her morning’s trip to Azkaban melted off her like snow in sunlight.

“I don’t wish to intrude on this loving moment,” Nott said as he walked into the room. “But I must take my leave. Potter, we still on?” Harry nodded, letting his arms fall from around Hermione. Nott turned his attention to her. “Heard you were on Malfoy’s case.”

She nodded, slightly wary. She had a vague recollection the two Slytherins had been friends in school, or at least amicable classmates. She knew their fathers had both been Death Eaters and loyal followers of You-know-who. However, she did not know whether Nott had the same inclination, but couldn’t recall seeing a court file on the younger Nott now stood in her living room.

“You’re his best shot at getting out,” Nott said. “In my opinion, he couldn’t be in more capable hands.”

“Wow,” Hermione breathed. “Thank you Nott, that’s very kind.”

“Don’t mention it. Like really, don’t, I don’t need my impeccable reputation as an emotionless, witty aristocrat tarnished.” Hermione glanced at Harry to see if Nott was being serious or sarcastic but it seemed Harry didn’t know either. “Toodle-oo children.” Nott waved and went out the door.

“Is he always uhm… like that?” Hermione tentatively ventured to ask.

“Yes,” Harry said. “And if anything, more confusing than that most of the time.” He then smiled. “It’s grown on me.”

Hermione laughed and pushed his shoulder. “I’m making some cocoa, you want some?”

Harry shook his head. “No I should get through the stack of paperwork on my desk. Head Auror is throwing every scrap of paper he can find at me and telling me to sort through it.” He sighed. “When I could be doing more meaningful things with my time, like catching criminals.”

Hermione gave him a sympathetic look as he bounded up the stairs. For a few seconds she stood still in the living room digesting all the information. Her eyes caught the green coat on the armchair and she wondered how the two of them, Harry and herself, had gotten so tangled up with Slytherins. It was a mystery. She let her mind wander as she made herself a cup of hot cocoa and walked up to her room. At her desk she pulled out the blue folder with Malfoy’s information in it. Every week, and every session she added things into the folder, not only to keep track of things for the eventual trial but for her thesis as well. The report she had taken of the alleged guard assault from Draco’s perspective wouldn’t help much in court but it fit perfectly into her thesis. Hermione reached behind her for an empty piece of paper and started to write: _Prejudice against prisoners grows so deep that the guards seem to take pleasure in creating punishable crimes and incidents within the confines of the prison walls. Their abuse of power is corrupt by their bias._

She sighed and set the pencil down, looking at the words on the page, dissatisfied as always with whatever she wrote down. She then turned the page over and wrote: _Draco Malfoy, age 25, is a victim of prejudice wherein criminals (in this case Death Eaters) are looked at as less than human._

Again Hermione set the pencil down. She opened the blue folder to Malfoy’s picture and absently watched his movements as the camera flashed. At the time of his arrest and subsequent mug shot he was well put together. The image had appeared in the local newspapers with slandering words like: _Another Death Eater Jailed. The Malfoy line ends in Azkaban._ Anything to discredit, to knock the so called noble-blooded line of Malfoy down off its pedestal. But to Hermione he was still just a boy of nineteen, arrested for crimes he was forced to commit by a psychopath living in his house. What would she have done differently were she in his shoes? That’s the problem she had with the media, they were never sympathetic because sympathy didn’t sell. The general public too would not be sympathetic to criminals and Death Eaters, no exceptions. But Hermione knew that everything wasn’t so black and white, if only she could get the rest of the wizarding community to see it.

She flicked the blue folder closed, shoved her pathetic excuse for writing in a drawer and drank the last dregs of her hot chocolate. An owl tapped at her window. She let it through and saw that the letter was addressed to a Ms. Granger on a letter with a ministry seal on the back.

_Ms Granger,_   
_It has come to our attention that you, as a law student not yet graduated, have taken on the case of prisoner 8-4-7. This decision must go before committee before it can be accepted and is highly unorthodox. We do not take this indiscretion lightly. Report to the Ministry, sub-level 12, Wednesday the eleventh of July at 7am sharp._   
_Formally,_   
_B. T. M._   
_Ministry of Magic_   
_Auror offices and co._

Hermione read through the letter twice, then let it fall deftly to the desk as she felt numbness spread from her fingertips all the way up to her chest, encasing her heart in worry. “Fuck.”

_-Five weeks to trial-_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think about Theo?  
> As always lots of love!


	7. Chapter 7

Harry leant with his back against the fireplace, arms crossed watching Hermione swap shoes for the third time. “What are you going to do?” He said, shaking his head as she took her green shoes off and put her red ones back on. “Hermione. Stop okay? Look at me.”

Hermione sighed and looked up at her best friend, crossing her legs in front of her and picking at her fingernails in her lap. “What Harry?”

“You’re spiraling.”

“I’m not spiraling.”

“Yeah you are. Don’t let them get to you Hermione.”

“Don’t let them get to me? Harry, they are literally holding my future in their hands. Not to mention Malfoys. This is huge. This could-”

“Figuratively,” Harry said.

“I- what?”

Harry smirked. “You used literally wrong.”

“Oh shut up,” she said and covered her face. “You know what I mean. This is disastrous.”

“Maybe it won’t be.”

“Harry, I know you don’t want me to panic and all, but we both know it will be. This was inevitable really, I guess I’m just surprised they caught on so quick.” Hermione sighed and tried to push her hair away from her face. “They’ll take Malfoy and assign him some biased lawyer that will surely get him killed. And my hands will be tied.” She stood up and started pacing the room. “If I had just finished my thesis… I would be a certified lawyer and they wouldn’t be doing this. Why am I so inadequate?”

“You’re not,” Harry shot in, even though he knew she wouldn’t hear him.

“I’m going to let everyone down because I’m so stupid. Why did I think I could get away with this let alone get him free? It’s ridiculous. In this climate, I’m crazy to do it!”

“Yeah you are.”

“It was bound to fail, and now I’ve proved that I can’t do this and I can’t be a lawyer and everything is awful.”

Harry looked at her as she stopped pacing. “You finished?”

Hermione pursed her lips. “Yes.”

“Good, because the only thing that is stupid is your attitude right now. Since when do you give in? You know you’re the best lawyer for this job, and yeah yeah I know you’re not technically a lawyer yet but you are, Hermione, you just don’t have the signed paper to prove it. So stop whining and worrying about failing because you aren’t going to. You’ll go to that meeting, charm their socks off - figuratively,” he added with a grin. “And then manage to free Malfoy.” He shrugged. “It will work out.”

“It’s just not that simple.”

“Actually Hermione, it is. Your brain just overcomplicates everything. So,” he said, picking up her briefcase and handing it over to her. “Take your research and go to that meeting. And you won’t let anyone down Hermione, okay?”

She nodded, taking her briefcase. “You’re right.”

“I’m always right, I’m the chosen one.”

Hermione hit his arm with her briefcase, but couldn’t help smiling. “Deflate your ego Harry, that oversized head of yours isn’t very attractive.” She walked over to the fireplace and grabbed some floo powder, glancing down at her red Mary Jane’s, thinking it was too late to change it now. She threw the powder in the fireplace and stepped through into the large lobby of the Ministry.

*

Hermione stepped back through the fireplace into the living room of Grimmauld Place and fell face first into the sofa, groaning out a scream. Pierce Kroms made Hermione feel sick. Turned out the meeting at the ministry was all orchestrated by Kroms. He was so full of himself, talking about all his years of experience and putting Hermione down for not having finished her degree. Basically saying she had no reason to be working Malfoy’s case. At the end of his speech, even Hermione was starting to question whether it had been stupid to let her stubbornness lead her on. He had been very persuasive. So persuasive in fact that Beatrice T. Maybank agreed with him. Maybank was in charge of the committee, a hardened looking woman, probably around professor McGonagall’s age. Sadly, she had a lot of pull with the other committee members and no matter how much Hermione tried to talk about her thesis or how she was just as qualified - they seemed to have made up their minds before she even walked into the meeting room.

“Meeting go badly?”

Hermione groaned as answer.

Theo chuckled, and Hermione heard him sipping something, most probably tea. “You seem very defeated, Granger. You off the case?”

She pushed herself up, throwing her hair out of her face. “No, I have to share the case with Kroms, the crummy lawyer I took the case off of in the first place.”

“Theo?” Harry called from the stairs, “You coming up?”

“Keep your pants on Potter,” Theo called back up at him, smirking at Hermione and sipping his tea. “Or don't,” he said with a shrug to Hermione, and she made a face.

“Gross,” she said, easing her shoes off. “I'd rather not be privy to your flirtatious conversations.”

“You gonna keep trying?”

“To not hear you through the walls?”

“Draco's case, Granger.” Theo's tone had gotten serious, but he continued sipping his tea, as if the conversation were still casual.

“I'll keep trying,” she said sincerely. She'd be damned if she let a blithering fool like Kroms beat her now after everything she had done to get to this point. Seemingly satisfied, Theo finished his tea and went back up the stairs. Hermione opened up her suitcase and settled down on the sofa, tucking her toes under her to keep warm. Hours later Kreacher brought her hot chocolate and crumpets, having gotten used to her habits of not eating while engrossed in her work. She flipped through pages of her thesis, her research, even the many piles of books she had gotten from the library (that admittedly she needed to extend soon) - but still found nothing that could let her keep Malfoy's case alone.

Her difficult job just got near impossible.

*

Hermione was waiting by the entry desk to sign in for an interrogation room when Kroms stepped in through a fireplace, as well put together as ever and looking as smarmy as Hermione remembered.

“Ms Granger, you're early I see. Trying to get some time with our client without me?” Kroms said, fixing his irritably ugly, already straight tie.

“Of course not, Mr Kroms,” she said with false cheer. “I'm looking forward to working with you and having someone as experienced as you help with Malfoys’ case.”

“You mean Prisoner 8-4-7,” Kroms corrected her. “And I'm glad you can acknowledge my superior intellect and experience. And here I thought you were just an eager law-student trying to get through on her fame. Make no mistake miss Granger, this case is not yours to win, at best, it’s yours to settle.”

Hermione grit her teeth while Kroms walked past her, flicking his wand to sign the sheet and heading to interrogation room 9. She counted to ten, breathing deeply and trying not to think of the six different ways she could get away with locking Kroms in a jar for a good three months as a dung beetle.

She followed after him into the room and sat down in the chair next to his, placing her briefcase on the floor up against the table leg, then removed a cat hair from her tights, crossing her ankle over the other, then uncrossing them. Then crossing them again. Clasping her hands on the table, only to flatten them and then clasp them again.

Malfoy was escorted in, again with an unnecessary amount of shackles, handcuffs and guards. He was pushed down into his seat, and his chains magically connected to the table and the ground. Hermione thought he looked about the same from when she visited him in Azkaban. He didn't seem surprised to see Kroms, but then again did he ever show emotion to anything? Hermione knew Malfoy wasn't exactly an open book, but she had wanted to tell him gently about Kroms inclusion in the case.

“Prisoner 8-4-7,” Kroms started. “By decree of B. T. Maybank I have been reassigned to your case, whose initial trial is twenty days from now - let the record show that Ms. H. Granger is present as well as a guard with one on standby outside the door to interrogation room 9. Now,” he cleared his throat and looked up at Malfoy for the first time since he had been escorted into the room. “I have cancelled the meeting that was booked in three days time as it is unnecessary and a waste of the Ministry’s time and money.”

“What?” Hermione said loudly, Kroms ignored her and continued.

“Instead, the next session will be as originally scheduled, seven days from now. Please state that you understand this change has taken place and you are aware of those present in the room at this time.”

“Yes,” Malfoy said in a gravelly, low voice.

“Let the record show, prisoner 8-4-7 has stated his understanding and awareness.”

Hermione’s fingers tightened their hold on each other, her knuckles turning white. Not only had he taken over her meeting, her whole case, but he had cancelled one of her meetings? The most crucial one. How on earth was she supposed to find a way to get Malfoy out of this mess with three meetings before the trial wherein she would be censored at every turn, maybe not even allowed to speak.

“Now that that is out of the way,” she said, trying to keep her voice even and professional. “Maybe we can talk about how we will approach some of the questions the warlocks will address in the trial. If I may,” she reached down towards her briefcase.

“Right, here are some,” Kroms said, moving his arm and blatantly summoning a piece of paper out of his briefcase with a non-verbal spell. Hermione stilled with her hand above her briefcase, glancing at Malfoy who had flit his eyes to the paper. “Do you feel responsible for the dozens of murders, tortures and kidnappings that occurred in your place of residence from 1996 to 1998?”

Hermione swallowed, straightening in her chair, and smoothed out her skirt, about to attempt to speak but only managed to open her mouth before Kroms spoke again.

“The crimes committed by your family members in your presence, were yours too. By letting them continue you were taking part in the evil acts yourself, wouldn't you say so, prisoner 8-4-7?”

“Objection, that is leading the witness,” Hermione interjected. But Kroms only raised his voice to drown her out.

“Do you think your entitlement from your family name and fortune should excuse you from facing the consequences of your actions? That your tainted galleons now rotting away in an ancient vault in the ground guarded by dragons and dark magic could possibly save you from what will most certainly be a deserving kiss of death?”

“Mr Kroms!” Hermione yelled, standing up in such a huff her chair clanged loudly as it fell to the floor. “Enough.”

“This meeting is over,” Kroms said, and the paper in his hand flew back into his briefcase. He stood calmly and exited the room, nodding to the guard outside the door who came in to remove Malfoy from his chair.

The guard grabbed his arm and pulled him up as the chains unstuck themselves from the table. Hermione stood and watched in panic until they took a step, then her feet ran away from her and suddenly she was in front of them, barring their exit.

“No, you can’t go. This can't happen like this.”

“Miss, step out of the way.”

“I told you,” Malfoy said to her, and she looked into his grey eyes, so defeated, so without hope that they bored into her soul. “There's no point fighting. It's over.”

“No,” Hermione said, adamantly shaking her head. “It's not over, I won’t let it.”

“You don't have a say, Granger.”

“Step away, miss.” The guard pushed past her, pulling Malfoy along by one arm, the second guard following with a grip on the other.

Hermione felt dazed, then hurried after them, catching up just as they called the elevator that would send them back to Azkaban. “No, wait. You’re wrong. I will prove you wrong, and everyone else. I will.” Even she could hear the desperation in her tone.

“Granger,” Malfoy spat, suddenly his tone was no longer that of a tired and defeated man, but one of utter frustration. “I am not a fucking house elf that you need to save and set free. I am not your get-out-of-guilt free card, don’t you get that? I am the bad guy. I am the villain in your story and I will always be that. They all know it, so why don’t you? Step away from this case, let it only destroy one life.” Suddenly his expression softened. “Please.”

The elevator doors dinged and she was again pushed aside as the three men stepped in. She watched helplessly, knowing she could in no way stop them from taking Malfoy to Azkaban and that she was utterly useless to get him out of the prison. She held Malfoys’ gaze as the doors closed and she knew - she knew she couldn’t step away from this case. Perhaps his eyes had been imploring with her to stop, to let it go and let him die. But to her it was his biggest cry for help. He had begged her, pleaded with her, to step away. She would never forget that look, would never allow herself to forget. That was the face of a man that needed her help and damn it all to hell if she wasn't going to do everything in her power to help him. Kroms could go fuck himself. Trist could shove his opinions where the sun didn't shine.

Hermione fucking Granger was on the case and she was going to win.

*

“Hermione?”

“Ron,” she said, looking up at him as she tried to move another piece of paper on the floor. She had every single piece of paper she had on law, from her years in school and her research the past year for her thesis and Malfoys’ case scattered about the floor in the living room of Grimmauld Place. “This actually couldn’t be a worse time, can we do this later? I don't really have time for… well anything.” She hadn't slept more than six hours in three days, throwing her hair on top of her head in a bun as it got heavier the longer she put off washing it. Her favourite knitted jumper had ink stains on the sleeves, and her jeans were stained with ink all over, her knees practically black at this point.

“Actually, Harry told me whose case you’re working on, and I want to help.”

“What?” Hermione was so surprised she knocked over the pot of ink. “Oh merlin’s balls,” she muttered to herself, vanishing the mess. She stood and tried to wipe some loose hair from her forehead, creating a new streak of ink across her skin.

“Look, I might loathe the tosser, but he doesn't deserve to have his soul sucked out of his body. No one does. If there's anything I can do to help, I’m here and offering.” He shrugged in a way that was so quintessentially Ron she wanted to cry from the wave of comfort that washed through her.

“Ron…”

“Hey, no need, that’s what friends are for, right?” He gave a lopsided smile and Hermione tentatively smiled back.

“Friends?” She inquired carefully.

Ron nodded. “Friends.”

She rushed to hug him, and he held her tightly. Maybe the hug was selfish on her part, but she really needed it with how shit she felt at the moment. She knew Ron still had feelings for her, but the fact that he had decided to settle for being friends meant so much to her. She no longer felt as alone as she had before, and she hadn't even realised she felt that way. A small weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She was still trying to carry the whole sky, a proverbial self-made Atlas, but now she wasn't doing it all by herself.

“Thank you Ron.”

“You're welcome,” he said, letting out a sigh and go of her. “So, what can I do?”

“I honestly don't know where to go right now. I’m running in endless circles, hence this absolute chaos.” She gestured to the mess of paper covering the entire floor. “I feel like I’ve approached every angle but I’m stuck.”

“This is connected to your thesis isn’t it? So if we look into the old cases we could go from there.”

“I’ve already gone through them multiple times.”

“Have you looked into the lawyers that were assigned to the cases?”

“Of course I- wait…” Hermione flipped through multiple papers on the floor and sat down in a slump. “No, I haven’t.”

“I’ll go do that then. I do have some special access being an Auror and all,” Ron said, and smiled. “I can get info on the lawyers and who in the higher ups assigned them.” He picked up a paper from the floor, reading some of the text. “Hey uhm, Harry’s an Auror too, why haven't you asked for his help?”

Hermione shook her head. “He's been so stressed out lately and busy with all the paperwork his boss is piling on him, I didn't want to add to it. Plus, trying to get any work done around Theo is impossible.” She laughed, flipping through more pages.

“Who’s Theo?”

“What?” Hermione looked up.

“You said Theo, is that Theo Nott, the quiet lanky kid from Slytherin? Why would Theo be around while you work?”

“Uhm…”

Ron was scrutinizing her face. “Why are you trying to think up a lie?” Ron shook his head. “Harry’s keeping something from me that has something to do with Theo Nott.”

Hermione sighed in defeat. “Since when did you get so good at detection?”

“Since I finished Auror training, which basically makes me a detective,” he said with a smile, and a small bump of their shoulders. “I guess I should talk to Harry then.”

“You're taking this… calmly.” Hermione noted with careful surprise.

Ron shrugged. “I’ve been making an effort not to be as hot headed like I used to be. Maybe I’m not super happy that Harry is apparently spending time with a Slytherin, and especially one like Theo Nott… but I'm also not happy about this,” he said, waving about a piece of paper from the floor. “But you’re my friend, and this matters to you. I should support you in what you do.” He chuckled and rubbed over his face. “I guess therapy really helped me.”

Hermione nodded. “Does seem that way.” She smiled. “I'm glad it could help you.”

“And I’m sorry it didn’t help you,” he said. “But I'm making an effort. You can see that, can’t you?”

She nodded again. “Yeah, I’m proud of you Ron.” She tore her eyes from his and focused back on her work. “Right, let's get started.”

They spent the next couple of hours on the floor, rifling through papers together and seeing if Hermione had gathered any info that might be helpful for Ron’s investigation. Then he left and Hermione, brain completely fried, decided she wouldn’t do anyone any good sleep deprived and short circuited got up to have a cup of tea before she would eventually slump down in her bed from exhaustion.

“Granger?” Someone was shaking her awake. “Granger.”

“Eh?” Hermione blinked her eyes open. She was lying face down on her bed, the room was dark. She had obviously fallen asleep, but who was waking her up and why? “What's going on?”

“Get up we need to go.”

“What? Is it Harry, is he okay? Shit.” She jumped up and grabbed the beaded bag she kept under her bed for emergencies. “Okay, I have everything we might need, if we have to stay away long then I can-”

“Granger,” someone said, grabbing a hold of her and shaking her a bit. “Wake up and look at me.”

Hermione blinked the blurriness out of her eyes and focused on the sharp features of Theodore Nott. She furrowed her brows. “What's going on? Why are you in my room?” She was kind of glad she fell asleep while fully clothed now, even if she had been wearing those same clothes for days.

“We don't have a lot of time,” he said. “Is your wand in there?” Theo gestured to the bag she was clutching tightly to her chest.

“No,” she said quickly.

“Get your wand and maybe your shoes. We have a portkey to catch.”

Hermione reached over to her pillow, grabbing her wand that was stowed under it. “Portkey to where?”

Theo waited until she had accio-d her shoes to her. Then grabbed her hand and wrapped it around an ornate letter opener. “To Azkaban.”

Hermione only had time to widen her eyes and open her mouth to protest before she felt the portkey activate and the air around them sucked in and with a plop her bedroom was empty.

They landed somewhere Hermione definitely recognised from her previous visit to Azkaban. However, it wasn’t the visitors entrance, or the gate outside - they had appeared inside the high-profile prison and were in one of the many hallways with cells all around against the walls.

“Stay quiet,” Theo whispered to her and she wanted to scream that OF COURSE SHE WOULD STAY QUIET because she wasn't a complete fool. But what she really wanted to point out is how incredibly illegal and dangerous this was to break INTO Azkaban. Not to mention absolutely stupid.

Theo seemed to be completely calm and collected though, taking one look around and taking deliberate steps down the hall like he knew exactly where he was going. He pocketed the letter opener and Hermione guessed that would be their way out as well. Her ears were filled with her own heartbeat as her stress level spiked and adrenaline filled her body. She walked behind Theo, careful to conceal her footsteps with a non-verbal spell. She wondered why they weren't disguising themselves or even disillusioning themselves to not be spotted. The wonders of the magical world still hadn't figured out to use security cameras in their establishments - _“a worthless muggle device”_ \- as the warlock had said to Hermione when she had pitched it for added security. That would definitely come in handy, but wouldn't the prisoners see them? Or even the night guards?

“Theo,” she whispered as they walked, and either Theo was ignoring her or she had been too quiet. “Theo,” she hissed a little louder that time. He turned round with a finger to his lips and a look like she was acting stupid. She pursed her lips. There were a couple of adventure related things Hermione had learned she did not like, having spent a long while running a couple of years back, one of those was not having a plan. Another was being thrown into something without knowing what it was. What was Theo thinking? Why hadn't he talked to her first about whether or not breaking into Azkaban prison was a good idea or not, you know, weigh the pros and cons first before making them break at least five laws she could list off the top of her head.

They took a turn down another hallway and through a double set of doors which were suspiciously already open.

What could Theo possibly be planning to do? People usually didn't break into prisons except to break someone else out. Oh no. They couldn't break Malfoy out! Hermione walked faster to catch up to him, she grabbed his arm and tried to stop him.

“Theo, you can't do this. We have to go back now before we're caught.”

“We won't be caught. Now shush.”

“We can't break him out!” She whispered passionately, definitely not loudly.

“Can you lower your fucking volume Granger?” He hissed at her. “We’re not going to break him out, but can you hold your trap shut for five minutes?”

“Then tell me why you pulled me out of bed in the middle of the night to break into a prison.”

Theo rolled his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “You said Kroms had taken your meetings away from you. Potter said you were keeping a log of incidents for your thesis. Correct so far?”

Hermione nodded, furrowing her brows, not sure where this was going.

“Wrack your exceptionally sized brain Granger, you can figure this out.”

Hermione, feeling so drained from the past few days looked at him with desperation. A couple of things went through her head: Theo was planning to polyjuice himself and take Malfoy’s place. Theo was planning to interrogate the other prisoners to get information for her thesis against the guards? That one was a stretch. She thought back to where they had been walking so far - away from the prisoners, closer to the entrance, to the guard stations. Suddenly she had a revelation.

“You want the guards’ logs, their information on the prisoners and proof that they're being prejudiced.”

Theo shrugged. “Something like that. As well as rotas and which guards escort prisoners to be executed - just in case.” He then walked on with Hermione following at his heels. They finally got to the guard station, which was - again- suspiciously not locked or guarded. Theo went in first, using his wand to open cabinets silently and duplicating almost everything, trying to be efficient while still trying not to miss anything.

“Is there an extension charm on that bag of yours?” He asked.

“Yes,” she said and opened it up and Theo started guiding the duplicated documents into her bag. Hermione set it open on the floor so the papers could drop in freely and started looking around the office. She looked at the list of the many prisoners currently occupying the cells of Azkaban prison, each one allocated a cell number. She ran her finger across the name Malfoy, Draco. Him and Theo must be very close friends if Theo was willing to risk so much to help with his case. Next to the list of names was a list of activity rota. She decided to copy that as well and sent it flying into her bag. She was rummaging through some drawers when Theo tapped her on the shoulder.

“We have to go,” he said, holding up the ornate letter opener for her to see, it was vibrating in his hand. Hermione quickly scooped up her beaded bag and grabbed onto the portkey.

Where they landed, Hermione didn't recognise. The room was lit only by the dim light shining in through the curtains from a streetlamp outside. There were armchairs strewn about the room, and the walls were covered in bookshelves. To Hermione, it smelled a little like her nan's place up in Suffolk, where the carpets were never cleaned and the stench of cigars couldn’t be shaken out of the drapes.

“You think you got enough stuff to help you Granger?” Theo shook her out of her reverie. She nodded absentmindedly, eyeing the many books against the wall. “As much as I'd love to watch you drool over my family’s book collection, I think it would be best for you to head back as soon as possible.”

“We're in your family library?”

“Study, actually, the library is downstairs. Focus Granger. I didn't pull you out of bed, break into a high profile prison, just for you to look at my books.”

“Why did you pull me out of bed? Seemed like you could have gone there by yourself. Or even with Harry, why take me?”

“I have my reasons,” Theo said with a shrug. “And I have some connections in places and I received the portkey without much time to dawdle about it, so time constraints - for one thing. Harry is useless in quiet shenanigans, hadn't you noticed during every single duel club he would yell the spell as loud as his vocal cords would allow?” He waved a hand. “Not very important, but proves my point.”

Hermione nodded. “He was never very good at the non-verbal part of spell casting. But why not go alone?”

Theo sighed in exasperation. “You really have to know everything don't you? Well Granger, it’s like this; if someone had come along and caught us, it is usually better to have two people where one can be a distraction while the other does the extraction.”

“You wanted me to be bait?” Hermione asked, not amused.

“No Granger, I’m the distraction. Don’t overinflate your ego, I’m definitely the sexier out of the two of us, and I would get more attention for shaking my tail feathers than you would. And maybe seeing a law student breaking into a prison would be significantly worse than a bored, rich kid who wanted to spend some time vandalising a guards’ station in Azkaban.”

Hermione nibbled her lip. “You’re pretty smart Nott, worth a lot more than just… tail feather shaking.”

“Thank you, although I don't exactly need reminding, because I know I’m the best.”

Hermione laughed, with a shake of her head. She hesitated. “So, you and Malfoy…”

Theo raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Well, you must have a very special friendship if you’re breaking and entering for him.”

“Draco is my best friend. He would do the same for me, and more, and worse. And we have for each other. I owe him more than my life. So yes, that can be classified as a special friendship. But if that was a strange roundabout way of asking me if Draco and I were gay lovers - the answer is no. I’m way out of his league.”

Hermione blushed. “Uhm, that wasn't exactly… what I meant… but okay.” She covered her face, feeling so embarrassed.

“Relax Granger,” He picked some lint off his suit, flicking it to the ground. “I'm only pulling your leg. But please use that to win your case. Bury Kroms. He deserves worse.”

She nodded. “Thank you for getting me for this, and for helping. I know it's because you’re on Malfoys’ side and it's not exactly for me. But still, thanks.” She smiled at him. Then, not knowing what else to do with her awkward nervous energy, she waved at him before apparating back to Grimmauld Place.

_ -Four weeks to the trial- _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?  
> Lots of love <3 xx


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll be starting to get a teeeeeeny tiny bit of Dramione in this chapter, a small sliver - I hope you like it xx

Hermione woke up late the next day, still feeling tired to her bones, but she had work to do. She got up, throwing her hair up in a messy bun on her head and started down the staircase where she could faintly hear voices. The closer she got the louder the voices became and Hermione realised she was hearing a fight. She tiptoed down to the last step, listening intently. She could hear Harry on the one hand, sounding agitated and possibly pacing the room and then she heard… Ron, it was definitely Ron. Hesitantly she walked towards the living room, staying by the doorframe.

“Can't believe you're trying to use that against him!” Harry said exasperated. “It was years ago Ron.”

“And yet it still applies. Do you even know how much shit his dad has done? He's a snake.”

“He is not his dad.” Harry was getting angry.

“How would you know Harry? Their family is neck deep in dark magic, do you know how many raids have been done on their house? Probably more than the Malfoys'. Nott is a slimy dirtbag with too much money and doesn't face any consequences because of it!”

“Theo is not his dad!” Harry yelled over him.

“He uses his money doesn't he?” Ron yelled back. “Money gotten from some shady ass business. Business that Nott jr is probably dipping his fingers in too. You're really going to let him fool you?”

“Shut up, Ron! Just fucking shut up.” Harry rubbed his face. “That's enough. You say you're a supportive friend and then you react like this? I haven't even told you everything, you prick, and you're already throwing shit in my face. You think I don't already know this because I don't come from a 'sacred 28' family - which  _ you _ are a part of, something you haven't mentioned much. But Theo told me all of this, he's really blunt about pretty much everything. Something I really look up to actually and I'll try it out now. I'm dating Theo Nott.” Harry threw his arms up in the air.

Hermione could see Harry's back and Ron's face, and suddenly Ron's whole demeanour changed. Yes, he was surprised, but there was something else there too. Something Hermione wouldn't have recognised had she not gone to therapy with him. He was realising he had overstepped and that he was in the wrong.

“I am in a relationship with Theo Nott,” Harry continued. “Maybe it won't work out, who knows? Relationships sometimes end, whatever. But this is what I'm doing and it is keeping me fucking sane while the auror department tries to bury me with paperwork and hide me behind a desk instead of out in the field like you are.” Harry sighed, moving his hand through his hair, making it stand even more on end. “The point is… I like Nott- Theo. And…” he sighed. “I think I might be gay.”

Hermione could tell this was the hardest thing for Harry to admit to Ron. Not only because he was unsure of it himself, but because he didn't know the wizarding world's stance on different sexualities. Ron seemed to be figuring out how to respond and strangely, his anger had completely melted from his features.

“I'm sorry,” Ron said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was being a right tosser. I didn't realise…” Ron seemed a little uncomfortable. “You happy?”

That took Harry off guard, wherein he didn't answer for a moment. “Yeah,” he said eventually. “I am, Ron.”

“Well that's all that matters, isn't it?” Ron said with a shrug.

Hermione smiled to herself, pretty proud of her two friends. She tiptoed backwards and went into the kitchen to get herself some tea and a little breakfast. Ron really was doing his best to improve, the way he accepted and admitted he was wrong. A couple of years ago he would have been stewing for days in his anger. Hermione was impressed.

“There you are,” Ron said, coming into the kitchen. He grabbed a biscuit and sat down at the table. “You hear all that?” He said, nicking his head towards the door and taking a bite out of his biscuit.

“Some,” Hermione admitted.

Ron nodded, but seemed to be fine with that topic ending there. “I managed to get the info for you. The ministry appointed lawyers are supposed to be handed cases mostly at random, but you're right that something's been off with these Death Eater cases. Most of the lawyers that get preliminary cases are ones who have recently started out, usually with quite good percentage of winning. But the lawyers assigned to the Death Eater cases are ones with years and years of experience. I think you're right and they are helping tank the cases so they get the kiss.”

Hermione's jaw dropped. “Sweet Merlin, how did you get all of this information in one day?”

Ron grinned. “I'm pretty good at my job.” He shrugged.

Hermione shook her head. “Ron this is amazing, this is like… I can't even explain how big this is. Thank you. Do you have-“

“Proof? Yes I do.” He reached into his pocket and took out a tiny blue rectangle and handed it over. Once it was resting in Hermione's palm, he waved his wand over it and it turned into a massively thick folder, and she almost dropped it to the ground. “Sorry,” he said with a smile.

Hermione shook her head. “This is crazy. This could genuinely help me win the case and finish my thesis while I'm at it. Thank you, Ron.”

“My pleasure. But if you do want to thank me, I suppose you could do it over dinner, tomorrow night?”

Hermione hesitated, looking up at him. His face seemed hopeful but cautious. Hermione did want to mend their relationship, but she wanted to mend it back into a friendship. To her, their romantic relationship was over, and maybe that was harder for Ron to understand or accept, but she needed him to start moving on from her. She was not the right person for him. Especially with how broken she still was. He deserved someone who was as well put together and as willing to evolve as he was and as he had. She was so proud of his progress, and she felt if they tried things again she would just revert him back to his old self.

“I'm sorry, Ron, I just… don't think we should just yet.”

Ron nodded. “Right,” he said, pushing his lips together, accepting her refusal. “Well I hope this helps,” he said, tapping the folder she had eased onto the table. He got up. “Good luck with all this. Let me know if there's anything more I can do.”

“I will. Thank you Ron.”

She watched him leave the kitchen and felt a stone of guilt settle at the bottom of her stomach. With a sigh she set the folder down and ate her breakfast. She needed a small pick-me-up after the morning, so she made herself a hot chocolate and settled down on the sofa in the living room, surrounded by pillows and blankets and started rifling through the folder Ron had brought her. She stayed seated on that sofa for hours, letting pages on the floor float up to her when she needed to check something she had written. Sometimes she had to admit it was handy being a witch.

***

The inside of interrogation room 9 was depressing. Sure it looked about the same as any other interrogation room in the place, except this time when Malfoy sat in his chair, the chains on his hands were connected to a chain around his neck. And those were fastened to the top of the table. Then he had chains on either leg which connected to the floor by either table leg on his side. It was so ridiculously over the top, so incredibly demeaning it made Hermione feel sick. To top it off she had to listen to Kroms drone on and on. Every single time Kroms opened his mouth to speak, it felt like the acid crept further up her throat. She loathed the man. She loathed what he was doing, ruining her plans completely. Any sort of bond or trust she had formed with Malfoy was completely out the window now. This was their second to last meeting before the trial and Kroms was recounting every single incident that had happened since Malfoy was incarcerated. Then he listed all the crimes he was being convicted of at the trial. Hermione was at the end of her fuse. She had fantasised about setting his hair on fire, cutting up his suit, turning his shoes into molten lava - to list a few. But instead she bit her tongue and settled for staying quiet and digging her nails into her arms.

“Obviously,” Kroms continued. “We will look into how to combat what the warlocks will say, talk about your family naturally, especially your father, who was convicted himself for his crimes and-“

“Don't.”

Malfoy had interrupted Kroms.

“Excuse me?” Kroms said, looking up at Malfoy from his pile of papers on the table.

“Do not talk about my father.”

Hermione could immediately tell by Malfoy's tone that they had gotten into dangerous territory. She glanced at Kroms and knew he was going to use this to his advantage. This could turn disastrous. She had to step in.

“Mr Kroms, maybe would she take a little break now, you could get some coffee, I noticed you finished yours quite a while ago, it might be a pertinent time now to-“

“You are in no position to make demands, prisoner 8-4-7,” Kroms said, emphasising every number. “We will talk about your father, there's no way around it.”

Hermione nibbled her lip, glancing over at Malfoy and seeing that his usually blank demeanour had been replaced by a sneer, his shield was breaking and emotion was showing on his face - and he was livid. Hermione swallowed, calculating the risk to what she could do. She glanced at the guard in the corner and back to Kroms as he started speaking again. She bit hard into her lip as she fingered her wand subtly by her side.

“If we don't mention him the warlocks definitely will, and we should be ready for the way they'll talk about good old Lucious Malfoy, the corrupt and slimy Governor, politician and shamed ministry worker who-“ Kroms stopped, blinking. “Coffee sounds good.” He stood and walked out the door, the guard followed after him.

Malfoy, with his fists clenched hard on the table watched after him with utter loathing. Once the door closed he let out a run of expletives under his breath, finally saying loudly while punching his hands on the table: “Fucking prick!”

“Malfoy,” Hermione said gently, getting his attention. “We don't have a lot of time. I've gotten loads of stuff that can help us in the trial. Things that can actually prove the discrimination you're facing here.”

Malfoy was clenching and unclenching his fists on the table. Frustration and anger clear on his face, twisting his lips and tightening his jaw. “It doesn't fucking matter, haven't you realised yet? It's all a fucking game to them. Nothing you throw at them will work, they've already decided, my death date has already been penned down in ink and they all know it.”

“No,” Hermione said, adamant. “I won't let it happen. Theo and I went to Azkaban and we found lots of stuff that-“

“That you can't use because you obtained it illegally.” He looked up at her. “I know what Theo did and what he was planning, and it was stupid on his part to involve you.”

She hesitated. “I can still give it a try. And I got info on the lawyers and ministry higher ups that have been in charge of the other Death Eater cases that ended in the kiss, and it all points to it being rigged and I have proof. Proof I can use and that they can't possibly deny.”

Malfoy shook his head. “Your level of naivety is amazing, really your positive outlook on the world is troubling. Everyone in this building, everyone in the ministry, is corrupt to their core,” he said emphatically to her. “No matter who you talk to, it will be shrugged off, either because they are involved and getting something out of it or because they know I was a fucking Death Eater and only a fool would try to help a convicted criminal.”

“But-“

“Granger, you fucking tried. Okay? But you are going to fail, everything is set up against you to fail. And I am going to die. That's what's going to happen.” She saw his face falter for a bit, the intense anger wavering for a moment of what looked like sadness, maybe grief? “You should back out before you have to be involved with any of it. Save your clean record before I taint it…”

He looked away, his hair covering his face and she wondered if he were trying to hide tears or simply hiding his emotions. Carefully, but without much thought, she put her hand over his, thinking it would be a friendly gesture, a professional way to tell him he wasn't alone. At first his cold fingers stayed still, but then they shifted and both his hands held tightly to hers as if she were his only lifeline, as if he were drowning and she was the hand reaching down to save him.

“I'm not going anywhere,” Hermione said softly.

The door opened up again and Kroms and the guard re-entered. “Ahh, where did we leave off?” He said, sipping a cup of coffee. Hermione quickly retracted her hand from Malfoy's, straightening her back.

“We were talking about the protocol on escort to the trial,” Hermione supplied.

“Ah, of course,” Kroms said, taking his seat and thankfully spending the rest of the meeting talking about protocol and not on Malfoy's family or history or his crimes. Or his impending death.

When the meeting finished Kroms stood and went to the door to speak to the guard outside while the other guard got Malfoy to stand and unfasten his chains from the floor and table. Hermione got up and moved to stand just behind Malfoy, the guard took a step in front of him to hear Kroms speak. Hermione took the chance and reached to touch her hand to Malfoy's again. But this time, from the moment their fingers touched, she recognised it was different than before. The air around them shifted, she could feel a heaviness, an almost electric current, that pushed on her skin to pebble, raising the hairs on her arms and rolling up to leave a light blush on her cheeks. His fingers stroked over hers and lightly squeezed them.

The guards came back through to get Malfoy and they let go of each other's hands, Hermione taking a couple steps back to give them the wide berth they demanded. Just as they turned past the doorway Malfoy looked back to lock eyes with her. Then they were gone.

_ Three weeks until the trial _ .

*

Hermione was writing in her thesis, then her hand stilled and she flexed her fingers, remembering his touch. She shook it off and continued to write, only to repeat the action five minutes later. She was barely getting anything done. Setting the quill down she went downstairs to get a snack and waste time. Trying to distract herself from thinking about that electric tension she had felt when she touched Malfoy's hand.

The front door opened and closed with a sharp bang. Harry stormed into the kitchen. Hermione watched him without saying a word, sipping her hot chocolate. He paced around the table twice, until finally going into the cupboard above the sink and taking out a jar of nutella and sitting down opposite her, handing her a spoon.

“That's gross,” she said.

“I know,” he said, then took a spoonful of the nutella and ate it.

Hermione shook her head and did the same. “Usually people do this with ice cream.”

“We don't have any.”

“You're angry,” she observed.

“I'm fed up actually.” Harry spooned more nutella into his mouth. “I quit. I quit my job, Hermione.” He groaned. “What is wrong with me? I can't quit my job, what was I thinking?”

“That you're not happy. That you've been slowly losing your mind in this job?”

He had another spoonful then started twisting it in his hand. “All I've done is tried to become an Auror, my Hogwarts exams…” he sighed. “And I just threw it all down the drain.”

“Oh come on, Harry.” She shook her head, setting her spoon down. “You know that's not true. There's so much you can do other than being an auror.” She hesitated. “McGonagall probably has the position still open for application.”

“Hermione,” he said with a sigh.

“No, Harry. Just listen. You were so good at teaching everyone in Dumbledore's Army-“

“That was seven years ago!”

“Irrelevant. You're a good teacher Harry, and I saw how much you liked doing it. So why are you being so stubborn about it? Is it really just because I mentioned it?”

He set the spoon down carefully, keeping his eyes on it. “No…”

“Harry…”

“I can't fill his shoes.”

“Who's? Snapes?”

Harry shook his head. “No, Lupin.” He looked up at her, fiddling with the spoon between his fingers. “How can I take his job?”

“Harry,” she said, laying her hand on top of his. “You wouldn't be taking his job, at least ten other people have had that job since he did.”

“Yeah, I know but… I don't know, he was the best defence teacher we had and I feel like there's no way for me to be as good as he was. If I do that, get that job, I can't fail. I can't… let him down.”

Hermione squeezed his hand. “You couldn't. Harry, he loved you, and believed in you. If anything he would be so proud you were thinking of doing what he did.”

He clasped her hand in his. “Wouldn't it be like I'm stealing what he had? I'm already helping Andromeda with Teddy… and then this… It's like I'm stealing his life.”

“Or preserving his memory. Harry, you're worrying about ifs. You're worrying about a dead man's possible opinions,” she said as gently as she could. “Remus would be so grateful you're taking care of Teddy, he wouldn't have made you godfather if he didn't want you to do it. The most important thing is, do you think being a teacher will make you happy?”

“I don't know.” He shook his head. “I did enjoy defence classes the most, other than quidditch.”

“Which technically isn't a class you can get grades in.” Hermione pointed out.

“Except flying lessons,” Harry said with a smirk.

“They barely count.”

“Just because you suck at it doesn't mean it doesn't count.”

“Bite me,” she said and smiled.

“I guess you're right though,” he said eventually. “I did enjoy teaching DA. But I thought I'd like being an auror and was obviously wrong about that.”

“You won't know unless you try.”

“When did you get so wise?” Harry said with a smile, squeezing her hand.

“Not everyone can be the chosen one,” Hermione said, smiling too. “Some of us need brains.”

He shook his head. “And I don't have brains because?”

“You died, so you gave up your brain power when you died, obviously.”

He chuckled. “Obviously.” He patted her hand and then let go. “Thank you Hermione, what would I do without you?”

“Stuck in devils' snare. Still looking for the chamber of secrets,” she said, listing them off on her fingers.

“I get it,” he said hastily. “How's your case going?”

Hermione sighed and shrugged. “I don't know really. I've progressed my thesis quite a bit. But I'm about 98% sure Kroms is going to deliberately tank the trial. Malfoy seems to think so, he's certain he's a dead man walking.” She shook her head. “I can't have that. I don't like the situation at all. I thought…” she sighed. “I thought after all we did to get rid of Voldemort, and his minions that infiltrated the ministry, that we would go to a time where people weren't corrupt. I suppose that's foolish and naive. But I kind of hoped we had changed the world for the better. But really, all we did is get rid of one of its evils.”

“Sadly, I think you're right. Even in the auror department… at first I was welcomed with fanfare, right? Then gradually they didn't want me doing my work. At first the publicity worked in their favour, they were getting a good reputation - hey look, here's the chosen one, still fighting crime and keeping your neighbourhood safe. Like I'm spiderman or something. And then suddenly they want me doing solely paperwork, out of the spotlight, out of the streets. It's like they're hiding something.”

“Corruption is everywhere,” Hermione said. “And sadly, the power hungry are often the ones that abuse that power. I don't know if I'll be able to save him, Harry.” She was genuinely worried and scared, not only to fail, but to fail Malfoy after trying so hard to prove to him she could do it, that she would - on tenacity alone - win this.

“What will you do?”

“Keep trying and doing my best. I guess I can try to speak louder than Kroms but he basically has seniority.”

“No, what will you do if you lose?”

“What do you mean?”

“Hermione, if it's true that the odds are stacked against you, that the game is rigged, then why aren't you making a plan B? If you lose the trial and he gets sentenced to get the kiss - what will you do?”

Hermione gnawed her lip. “I don't know. There's not much I can do…”

“Legally, yeah.”

“I can't just go around breaking the law Harry, I'm trying to become a lawyer.”

“I realise that Hermione, but are you really going to let them take his soul?”

Hermione looked into his eyes and felt that heavy stone in the pit of her stomach again. “No.”

“Exactly. We've helped someone get their soul back before, we can do it again.”

“That was mostly you, though,” she said, smiling a little.

“You got us there, something I never would have been able to do. I just waved a stick in the air and said some words.”

“Screamed some words actually.”

“Yeah yeah,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “I'm loud, ha ha. Did Theo talk to you?”

Hermione laughed. “He did say something about your inability to be sneaky.”

“I can be sneaky if I have to.”

Slowly Hermione's smile faded as she thought more about what he had said. How had she not thought about the possibility of them losing the trial? Being optimistic was one thing, but completely ignoring the - admittedly - more likely outcome? Not very smart on her part. What could she possibly do to stop it?

“Whatever I do, I can't do it alone.”

Harry nodded. “I can help with that.” He reached into his pocket and took out something that glittered gold.

“Is that…”

“Yup, I keep it in my pocket everyday, wherever I go.”

Hermione shook her head. “You kept the galleon, you are ridiculous Harry Potter.” She picked it up from his hand. “Doesn't mean anyone else kept it…”

“Only one way to find out.”

Hermione nibbled her lip and then pointed her wand at the galleon, the gold warmed up in her hand and started glowing. “The usual place?” She asked, looking up at Harry.

“Why not?” He said with a smirk. “It'll be a nice reunion.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What characters are you looking forward to seeing in the next chapter? There will be some old friends joining the story.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione makes plans to win her case for prisoner 847 with a little help from her friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Incoming scheming and teeny tiny lemons. As well as some fun banter, some additional characters you may remember, and a funny Theo. Let me know what you think! <3 Lots of love

The Hogs’ Head looked exactly the same as it had back in fifth year, down to the grime on the bar and the creak in the door. Hermione suspected it was deliberate to keep the eerie gloom present for its usual less-than-savory customers - if it had any. Aberforth, the barkeep and owner of the place, grunted in greeting to Hermione and Harry when they entered, carefully closing the excessively crooked and creaky door behind them. They sat in the usual place they had their first DA meetings, a large round wooden table in the back corner, just barely out of sight from the front door. Harry and Hermione were the first to arrive and she wondered if they would be the only ones arriving.

Harry went off to get them both butterbeers and Hermione looked around at the shabby pub while she removed her gloves. The paint had been chipped or peeled off of the bottom of the wall, perhaps by rats or the scuff of boots over the years. She eyed a certain rickety chair that seemed to wobble in the breeze, one of its four legs shorter than the others, with rough chipped wood as if the leg had been broken by force. Hermione liked to imagine a bar fighting scene, where someone picked up that chair and hit someone over the back. The person would have toppled over, landing on the table to the far left. She eyed the table and saw the top was crooked. She smiled, amused at her little fantasy of observation.

The door to the pub creaked loudly, announcing someone’s arrival. Harry returned with their butterbeers, sitting down next to her. Behind him walked a tall red-headed man. Ron smiled awkwardly to her and sat down on the opposite side of the table.

“Didn’t know if you would come,” Hermione said to him.

He shrugged. “If it’s serious enough to call in reinforcements, I feel like I should be there.”

“Thank you Ron,” she said, just as the door in the other room creaked again. Hermione felt a tight knot in her stomach of anxiety meeting up with everyone again. That, and she wasn’t sure any of them would want to help once she told them they were helping Draco Malfoy.

“Hi everyone,” Luna said, walking towards them and taking a seat next to Ron. Right behind her was Neville, adjusting his scarf that had gotten caught on a nearby chair. Once he had freed himself and safely wrestled the scarf from around his neck he sat down next to Luna, his face scarlet from embarrassment.

“Hi Luna, Neville,” she said with a nod when he had sat down. “Nice of you to come.”

“Of course,” Neville said. “I got a right fright when the galleon heated up in my pocket. I was actually re-potting our venomous tentacula when I felt it, almost got a right bad nip from one as well when I was distracted.”

“He can really anger the wrackspurts sometimes,” Luna said airily, smiling.

“Right,” Hermione said. “I take it your job at the greenhouses is going well then?”

“It is,” Neville said. “Sprout seems to forgive most of my accidents by now. She actually managed to predict one the other day-”

“Sorry I’m late,” came a voice from the front room, cutting Neville off. “Almost splinched myself because of a bloody cat-”

“Oh please you’re such a drama queen.”

Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas joined their circle, pulling out chairs and plopping themselves down.

“Hey,” Seamus said. “The next time your cat makes a leap for me when I’m apparating you can’t blame me if its bloody screeching head comes off in the process.”

“It’s not that serious, it wasn’t attacking or anything,” Dean said.

“Oh sure, if it wasn’t trying to attack me then that’s bloody fine huh?”

“Please Seamus, can we lower the volume a little?”

“I AM USING A PERFECTLY NORMAL TONE OF VOICE THOMAS.”

Dean rolled his eyes just as the door creaked and more people entered. Ginny and Katie Bell came in, saying hi to everyone and distracting them from the fumes peeking out of Seamus’ ears. People ordered drinks and did a little bit of catch-up before Hermione felt too nervous to keep it off any longer.

“Okay well, hi,” she declared over the group, asking for their attention. “Thank you for being here today, I’m honestly amazed so many of you kept your galleons.” She shook her head, slightly ashamed she hadn’t done the same herself.

“We’re always here when you need us Hermione,” Ginny said with a smile, and Hermione felt a tiny twinge of guilt for having lost touch with the youngest Weasley these past few years. But she was a professional quidditch player now and a bit harder to get a hold of.

“Hear hear,” said George who had just entered the pub, he nodded his head to everyone. “Hello, long time no see,” he said over the group. “Don’t let me interrupt, I’m sure there is some world saving that needs to be done if I know these three right.” He gestured to Harry, Hermione, and Ron and the rest of the group had a round of amicable laughs.

“I don’t know if it’s world saving exactly,” Hermione said cautiously. “Again, I’m very glad you all came. But I’m well aware we all have our own lives now and are busy with our own things, so you don’t need to feel any obligation or anything-”

“Just spit it out Hermione,” Seamus said, not unkindly. “We’re here to help, we trust you, otherwise none of us would be here.”

“But this is different,” she insisted. She glanced at Harry for backup and he simply nodded, letting her know this was her fight but he was on her side regardless. “This will involve a lot of not very legal things and might have real life-altering consequences. So I want to make sure you all know you can leave and are under no obligation to help.”

“Are you in some kind of trouble, Hermione?” Neville asked, his mouth twisted with worry.

“Not me,” she said cautiously, looking over the wonderful loving faces of her friends she hadn’t seen in so many years. “I want you guys to help me… help me help Draco Malfoy.”

There was a stunned silence that filled the room as if her sentence had stopped time. “What?” Ginny said, the first to break the silence. “I’m sorry, my ears must be clogged with wax or something because I could have sworn you just said you wanted to help Malfoy?”

Hermione nibbled her lip and nodded, feeling nervous.

“Hermione,” Seamus said. “Is this a joke?”

“Yeah, I’m not sure I understand here,” Dean said. “He was the biggest tosser in our year.”

“Isn’t he in Azkaban?” Katie asked the group. “I feel like I read that somewhere.”

“Well yes, he is-” Hermione attempted.

“That’s the least he deserves, the rotter,” Seamus said.

“What does he need help with?” Luna asked Hermione, her eyes wide and glossy as always. “Nargles? Or perhaps Dabberblimps? Those can get quite serious, you know.”

“I…” Hermione wavered, not certain she should be thankful that Luna brought the conversation back to what it was truly about, or confused because she had never heard about Dabberblimps before. “Well see, I’m studying to be a lawyer and I actually uhm… took on Malfoys’ case to make sure he wouldn’t get the dementors’ kiss after his trial. But, okay, I’m not explaining it right. So, there have been a couple of cases involving Death Eaters recently wherein they were all sentenced to get the kiss after their trials, but the trials themselves seemed to have been set up for them to fail. And I feel like this one - MY one is being set up to fail too and he doesn’t deserve to get his soul sucked out of him just for being a school bully,” she implored to Seamus.

“What about the lives he has altered forever with his actions?” Katie said, stoic.

Hermione hesitated, looking at her. “I know this is probably hard for you Katie, and like I said you don’t need to stay and help - I would completely understand if you don’t. But the things he did were under duress-”

“We were all ‘under duress’,” Katie spat, standing up abruptly. “That’s not an excuse. He’s a Death Eater, he did unspeakable things. He does not deserve to be helped or forgiven.” Katie then marched out and Hermione flinched when the door slammed against the frame behind her, then creaked back open again from the force.

Hermione swallowed. “If anyone else feels the same way, now would probably be the best time for you to leave too. I understand your feelings on the matter, but I can’t let an innocent man be punished unjustly.”

“Innocent?” Seamus bellowed. “He sure as hell wasn’t very innocent when all of you were held captive at his house! Not to mention when all of  _ us  _ were being tortured at school every day. Didn’t see him lift so much as a finger, did we?”

“That was a poor choice of words,” Hermione said quickly, trying to backtrack. “What I mean is, yes he’s not exactly innocent, but everyone deserves a fair trial. Can’t we all at least agree on that? If the roles were reversed, if we hadn’t won and we were all facing trial with Umbridge or someone as a judge, do you think we would have gotten a fair one?” She looked around at her friends, gauging their reactions. “I want to believe that our system isn’t so broken that we - as a society - would stoop as low as they did. We are not all knowing, and human beings are complicated. No one is wholly good or wholly evil. Therefore we cannot possibly be judged that way.”

“I think,” Luna said, with her airy, bright voice. “That’s a good way to phrase that. Just because Thestrals aren’t very pretty on the eyes doesn’t mean they’re evil creatures. Obviously the cause of us seeing them is unfortunate, but that’s not their fault. If I saw an injured Thestral I would go help it, wouldn’t you?”

“Thanks Luna, I appreciate the support,” Hermione said, actually quite touched even if the example given was a bit strange and disjointed. “I’m not a lawyer yet, I’m still finishing my thesis,” Hermione admitted. “Therefore the ministry appointed lawyer is back with me on the case and he is going to make sure I have no way of winning, no way of avoiding that dementors’ kiss for Malfoy. And I cannot abide by that. Not only because I hate to lose but because of the injustice.”

“What can we do?” Ron spoke up, looking up at her. Hermione couldn’t read his expression, but she wished she could.

“I need to have a plan in place if- I mean when, I lose. I can’t let them take Malfoy’s soul, I just can’t.”

“I’m in,” George said suddenly. “My life has been nothing but boring routine lately, might as well spice it up, and what’s more unexpected than this?”

“Thank you,” Hermione said sincerely.

“I’m in too,” Ginny said. “Katie might be my teammate, and I’m not very pro-Malfoy to begin with, but I agree with Hermione. Morally, this is wrong. Everyone should get a free trial.”

“Hermione, you’re sure he deserves your help?” Dean said, cautiously eyeing Seamus. “I mean, all of his school bully behaviour aside, he is still a Death Eater.”

“It’s not about him deserving my help or not Dean, it’s about giving it to those that need it. And he isn’t a Death Eater, he used to be one, and not a very good one if he can’t even identify Harry to his family when his face is swollen.” She gestured to Harry and he shrugged. “Look, I can’t do this on my own. Don’t look at it as helping him, look at it as helping me.”

“Anything you need,” Neville said, “I’m here to help.”

Luna smiled and took his hand, Neville blushed but squeezed it back. Hermione looked over the group, seeing that everyone aside from Seamus had spoken up. And everyone seemed to have realised that at the same time and were looking at him.

He groaned. “If I have to be anywhere near the tosser I’m punching him in the face, got that?”

“I suppose that’s fair,” Hermione said cautiously.

“Then I’m in,” he grumbled, smacking Dean’s hand away when he tried to pat his shoulder. “But I’m not happy about it.”

Hermione smiled, and looked over her group of misfits. “Let’s get to work.”

**

Hermione walked through the great big double doors that led into the main hall of Hogwarts. Harry, who was next to her seemed to have the same feeling of anticipation and dread. Hermione had not gone back to finish their seventh year, seeing absolutely no point in it. Instead she delved head first into her lawyer training. Same with Harry and Ron who had both gotten positions in Auror training shortly after her education began. So seeing Hogwarts again was strange. Displaced memories seemed to be glued to the walls. Through the big archway she could see the four tables and some scattered students sitting about. In her mind it shifted from a sorting ceremony, to Halloween decorations, Christmas, a dueling club and end of year feast. In the hall she saw the steps she had sat on to cry after the Yule Ball fourth year, to her left she saw herself scraped, bruised and exhausted dueling a wizard dressed in black, getting pushed back into the school for the final push of the resistance where bodies were lying in rows against the walls.

Hermione shook it off and looked to Harry who looked just as lost in thought as she was. “Ready?” She asked and started for the staircase.

“Not really,” Harry said, very truthfully. “Strange being back isn’t it? To a place I used to call home.”

“It is strange,” she agreed. “Not sure if it’s a good or bad kind of strange.”

They walked up the many winding and shifting staircases up to the headmistress’s office. Minerva McGonagall greeted them as she stood by her great oak desk. The office which used to house trinkets and oddities belonging to Dumbledore, was now plainly decorated with items placed because they had a purpose. Portraits of old headmasters past lined the walls all the way up to the ceiling, most of whom were watching them attentively, not least the two most recent portraits on the wall.

“It is nice to see you two again,” McGonagall said, gesturing for them to have a seat in an armchair. “I hope all is well.”

“Yes well,” Hermione started, going for the polite response. “We’re doing okay.”

“What seems to be the purpose of your visit?” She said, eyeing the two of them.

Hermione looked to Harry and saw that he was watching Dumbledore’s portrait, probably too deep in thought to have heard her question. She sighed inwardly and then took it upon herself to speak. “It’s twofold, actually. I guess jumping straight into it might be beneficial to all parties as you don’t have a lot of time.” Hermione stood and handed McGonagall a piece of parchment. “Firstly, I would like to ask for your help. My client, whom I legally have to refer to as Prisoner 8-4-7 to keep anonymity, but I believe you can tell by the information I have handed you who we are speaking of. Prisoner 8-4-7 is to go to trial very soon and I, along with Pierce Kroms, will be presenting his defence to the Warlocks at the Wizengamot. Ensuring your testimony might be very beneficial for his release.”

McGonagall read over the parchment Hermione had handed her and nodded, she set it down on her desk and looked back over at her with a pensive lift to her eyebrow. “You feel that this is in their best interest?”

“I do, if his past is the problem-”

“Miss Granger,” McGonagall cut in. “I do not presume to know how your thoughts on the man have changed over the years. I will help testify at the trial, I will answer honestly to the character of the man that used to be a student here. What you’re doing is a valiant thing, courageous even in light of recent trials that have gone sour these past few years. In the case of Mr.- “ she gestured to the parchment now laying on her desk. “I do not believe him worthy of such a horrific sentence.”

“Thank you, professor- I mean, Headmistress. Sorry, old habits.”

McGonagall nodded. “I understand.” She waved a hand for Hermione to proceed.

“Right, secondly, Harry would like to apply for a teaching job.”

Hermione’s bluntness seemed to shake Harry out of his stupor, he tore his gaze away from the portraits and to the two women now looking at him.

“Is this true, Mr. Potter?” McGonagall asked.

Harry seemed to almost shrink in his chair from embarrassment, it felt to Hermione like he had aged back ten years and was being scolded for losing a quidditch match.

“Yes, I… I’ve left the Auror department and it’s been brought to my attention,” Harry said, glancing at Hermione and straightening up in his chair. “A couple of times, that teaching might be something of a skill of mine.”

“Hmm,” McGonagall said, pondering his words. “What position were you thinking of?”

“Defence Against the Dark Arts,” Harry said.

She nodded. “Makes sense, you always did have a flare for the dramatic.” McGonagall grinned, then stood and walked round to sit in the high armchair by her desk. She rifled through one of the drawers and then took out a quill and ink. “When can you begin your training?”

“Training?” Harry asked.

“Yes, if you are going to be a teacher you will need the correct qualifications, you didn’t think we just let anyone teach at this school?”

“Well, headmistress, to be quite honest - yes, I did. I mean Lockhart taught here and-”

She held up a hand. “Please do not remind me of that imbecile. Your point has been noted. Unfortunately, all of those who have taught Defence Against the Dark Arts were qualified to, both with experience and either a teachers qualification or a degree. False or otherwise,” she mumbled as she wrote on the parchment, then handed it over to Harry. “Here are the details, please bring in information on your past experiences, work and field related to the first meeting. If all goes to plan, you can apply for the job in a couple of months.”

“Wow,” Harry said, taking the parchment. “Thank you, prof- headmistress. That’s… thank you.”

McGonagall nodded. “No reason to go overboard Potter, this works the same way for everyone who applies. Despite you being a former student, there is no special treatment at Hogwarts.” At their skeptical looks she sighed and added, “Anymore.”

“Thank you Headmistress,” Harry said, and Hermione nodded.

“Now, if that is all you may take your leave. It was nice seeing you two again.”

“You too,” Hermione said, shaking her hand and heading towards the door.

“Hope to see you again soon,” McGonagall said. “Oh and Potter, if you ever want to come around and play some quidditch there are a couple of former students that host practice games on Thursday nights on the pitch.”

“Oh cool, yeah I’d be interested in that.”

“Wonderful, I’ll owl you the details.”

They headed back down the staircase, about halfway down Hermione suddenly stopped. Told Harry she had forgotten something and left him to walk the rest of the way alone as she hurried back up the steps to McGonagall’s office. When she came back down Harry asked her what that was about, but she waved it off and said she had simply forgotten she was going to take the parchment back.

**

Back at Grimmauld place Theo had blown up their kitchen. Well, not literally. They got back and the kitchen was an absolute mess. There were wet sticky blobs everywhere in different colours, flour on the floor, ketchup on the cabinets. Hermione was so confused by the mess she couldn’t even get herself to yell or raise her voice but simply said - absolutely confounded: “Theo, what… what?”

“I made food!” Theo declared with a sweep of his arms. “Pretty neat huh?”

“Uhm… neat isn’t exactly the word I’d use to describe it.”

“Theo,” Harry said, cautiously taking a step into the kitchen, avoiding a spectacularly neon green blob on the floor. “What did you make?”

“First I made pie, then that kind of came out burnt so instead I made muffins,” Theo said, gesturing to a plate filled with stacks of what smelled like blueberry muffins. “Then I thought I should make dinner since you two would be out for so long - so I cooked up a couple of steaks and potatoes - wait you eat meat right?” He asked Hermione.

“Oh, yes I do.” She said, still surprised by the mess, but caught herself and found it quite endearing of him. “Thank you for asking,”

He waved it off. “All of that is set up in the next room on the dining table.”

“Okay, but… how did all of this happen?” Harry said, gesturing to the floor and the cabinets.

“Oh that, well Kreacher came in while I was cooking and complained about how clean everything was so I made sure to make a big mess so he had something to do while we ate. He actually came in here earlier and cried from happiness.”

“Wow,” Harry said, looking at Theo. “That’s… so weird and so nice at the same time.”

Theo smirked and shrugged. “That’s usually how people describe my-”

“OKAY!” Hermione said loudly. “I’m going to just go into the dining room thanks, you guys can… whatever.” She said waving her hands about in their general direction. Aiming herself at the door as Harry wrapped his arms around Theo.

Hermione shook her head and walked to the dining room. The table was set up so nicely. No wonder Theo came from a rich background. Even the napkins had been folded into swans on top of the plates, where they moved about as if on a pond. Candles were lit and there was even a centerpiece of flowers on the table. The dining room had never looked so good, or so romantic. Hermione grabbed her plate and took her serving of food, settling for a night in her room to let the two lovebirds enjoy their romantic dinner in peace.

She set her plate down on her desk, moving the haphazardly strewn pieces of paper and parchment, and pushing half-open books to the side. As she ate her food she pondered how she could deal with Kroms in a way that wouldn’t backfire horribly. She doubted that was even possible, the man was out for blood and her demise - at least the end of her career before it even got to start. Hermione leant back in her chair, reaching into her coat pocket and lifting the gilded chain up to the light. She had a feeling things would go her way this time, just as they had before. It was going to be tricky, and difficult to maneuver. But this is what had to happen.

She looked at the necklace spin as the last rays of the sunset pierced through her window and bounced off its gold surface.

Draco Malfoy deserved to be free.

Pierce Kroms would not win.

Hermione Granger would persevere and do anything in her power to do the right thing. Even if she needed a time-turner to do it.

***

“The psychological evaluation has come back,” Kroms said, joining her in interrogation room 9 once more. He waved the piece of paper in a flourish before putting it down on the table in front of her. “Looks like I’ll be ordering the cage after all, and just in time too.”

Hermione read over the paper and then shoved it back towards him. “You’re despicable,” she said, not even going to pretend at civility anymore. “Do you even care that you are condemning a person to death, do you even comprehend how disgusting it is what you’re doing?” She got up out of her chair, annoyed he had the higher ground, towering over her.

“What is disgusting,  _ Ms. Granger _ ,” he said with such force, with all clenched teeth and stiff frame leaning over her so she plopped back down into her seat. “Is scum and vermin criminals like him dirtying our streets and society. We must purge ourselves of their evil.”

Hermione stared at him. And stared. Because she had heard that before. But instead of falling back into unsettling memories Hermione felt a tightening in her stomach that had nothing to do with an oncoming episode. No, she was not losing her grip on her emotions, on reality, on the when and now. She was angrier than she had ever been and somehow, it steadied her resolve. It cemented the fact that  _ she had been right all along _ .

“Your prejudice, _M_ _ r. Kroms _ ,” she said, mimicking his tone of distaste. “Is duly noted.”

Before he had a chance to reply the guards came in with Malfoy in tow. His shackles fastened to the table, and the door to the room closed with a guard on either side. Hermione didn’t even try to get a word in when Kroms started the meeting, it would have been pointless anyway. He didn’t allow her to speak, wouldn’t let her get a word in - and Hermione briefly wondered if he was a misogynist as well as a prejudiced and entitled prick. No, she waited patiently for her time to strike and the perfect opportunity came when Kroms went to tell Malfoy about the results from the psych eval. His tone was menacing but gleeful, as if showing him how much he would suffer amused Kroms. Hermione leant down and picked up a tiny bowl with a lid on it. She plucked the lid off with a pop just as Kroms slimily slid the paper over to Malfoy to read for himself that he wouldn’t just be chained but enclosed in a cage at his trial - like a ravenous animal.

Both men looked towards her at the sound, and she just smiled sweetly and did her best imitation of an exaggerated Marilyn Monroe with a shrug and an ‘oopsie’. She saw Malfoy raise an eyebrow at her strange behaviour, but she could also see curiosity in his eye. He knew she was up to something.

“What is that?” Kroms snapped at her, jerking his head in her direction, annoyed at being interrupted.

“An assortment of nuts,” Hermione said, popping a handful in her mouth then moving the container right under Kroms’ nose. “Want some?” She said around the mouthful.

Kroms leapt out of his seat, backing away until his back hit the wall. “Ms. Granger put that away at once!”

“Why?” She said innocently. “I’m allowed to have snacks in here, and I’m really truly famished, barely had time for breakfast you see.” She took another mouthful and dropped a couple of nuts on the floor. “Oops” she mumbled with her mouth stuffed.

“I…” Kroms looked around in a panic. Then plopped his hand over his nose and mouth, his eyes wide.

“You don’t look so good, are you feeling alright, Mr. Kroms?” Hermione tilted her head to the side.

“I… have to-” Kroms stormed out of the interrogation room as quickly as he could, his voice already muffled.

“Well,” Hermione said with a triumphant smile. “It seems Mr. Kroms has fallen ill, let the record show that Mr. P. Kroms has left the premises due to life threatening illness and the session will continue without him.” She looked up at Malfoy and could see that he looked impressed. “Guard?”

The guard at the door looked at her.

“Could you step outside while I finish the meeting?”

“But dangerous prisoners should-”

“Yes, yes, I know. But you see, I’m his lawyer and I can ask you to step outside while I consulate. If anything happens you are right on the other side of the door, are you not?”

The guard hesitated, then nodded and stepped outside.

Hermione quickly grabbed her wand and waved it, putting a spell so no one could see into the interrogation room and silenced it for good measure.

“My my, what a sly snake we have become,” Malfoy said, and when she looked at him she could almost she the familiar smirk on his face. “I’m impressed.”

“Thank you,” she said, allowing herself to enjoy his praise. “It was either that or actually killing Kroms which, I sadly admit, I did think about doing.” She waved a hand. “Don’t worry by the way, the spell I put on the room keeps everything we say off the record.”

He nodded. “So what’s your master plan then? You know you can’t win.”

“You’re right, I can’t.” Hermione got up and walked around the table, she pointed her want at his chains and they fell away. He still had the shackles but for once he could freely move his arms and legs, untethered to each other or the table. Malfoy looked at his limbs with surprise, then up at her. “But I have a plan.”

Malfoy stood from his seat and she went from looking down to looking up into his silvery eyes. The hair that had grown too long in his incarceration fell beside his cheeks, framing his angular face and sharp jaw. The pale skin gleaming just before the shadow went over his face, his head eclipsing the light behind him. “Of course Hermione Granger has a plan,” he said and this time his smirk was there. Fully.

Hermione felt such triumph in that moment being able to see some of the Draco Malfoy she had known, no matter how annoying he had been back then. She could believe he wasn’t like that now. She had to. He had apologised to her, so that was indication enough wasn’t it? He felt guilty for what he had done, for the side he had been forced onto.

“I can’t tell you the plan in full detail though, I know you can do occlumency but it’s more than that.” She shook her head. “I don’t have time to explain why I can’t explain,” she said huffing out a laugh. Then it quickly died on her lips when his arms moved up and touched her shoulders, as if to steady her, but then his hands trailed down, skin on skin over her bare arms. There it was again, that electricity, the hairs on her forearms standing on end, a chill running up her spine and the back of her neck. Something inside her told her what it meant - but she also knew the strong blurry edge of denial keeping it hidden from her. Keeping whatever emotions she was feeling a mystery to herself.

“Your face flushes when you ramble.” Those were the words out of his mouth. Hermione didn’t even register what he had said until a few seconds later, her brain buffering because she was staring at his lips. They were closer to her than his eyes, she only needed to slightly tilt her head to look at his mouth and at the tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. Wait - why was everything in slow motion?

“Oh,” was her educated and intelligent response. She swallowed, convincing herself it was nerves stuck in her throat, and looked back up into his eyes. She shook her thoughts out of her head and went back to business. “So when Kroms tanks the trial, I’ll be there to get you out of this. Can you trust me?”

Malfoy was watching her, studying her face. “Does Theo trust you?”

Hermione hesitated. “I think so,” she said cautiously.

“If Theo trusts you then I trust his judgement.”

She pouted slightly. “You’ll trust a man but-”

“Granger,” he practically growled, grabbing her arms a little tighter. “This isn’t a feminist issue. This is me trusting my life long friend over a woman I’ve seen once a week for nine weeks.”

Hermione opened her mouth to protest but realised she was being stupid so shut it again. “Okay, that’s fair. Also - that was an extremely unprofessional response and I apologise.”

Malfoy shook his head. “I don’t care. Also, Granger?”

“Yeah?”

“This trial was rigged the day I was sentenced in Azkaban. Years ago. I’ve known it, they’ve known it. I still don’t see a point in fighting because no matter what you do, they’ll still get their way. Maybe you should save your energies and try to save the next person instead. You must have had breakthroughs or whatever that you can use for the next one.”

“Don’t be silly,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “I’m quite capable of saving you  _ and _ whomever comes after.”

“You joke but I’m being serious. I’m going to die-”

“No, you will die a natural death from old age sometime after an obnoxiously long life filled with your arrogance and inflated ego.”

“Actually I think you’re the one here with more arrogance strutting around everywhere in your heels and fancy skirts-”

“You’re calling  _ me  _ arrogant?  _ You?  _ The high and mighty, nose in the air, I-am-better-than-thou Draco Malfoy?” She laughed. “I can’t believe you can stand there and call me arrogant when-”

“Thinking you can save every bloody creature in the world because they got a fucking splinter and you come running with tweezers and bandages, you’re not everybody’s mum you know, some people can take care of themselves - I understand coming from friends such as Weasley that might be hard to comprehend-”

“All you did in school was whine and moan and talk about how your name meant this and your heritage meant that- HEY I do  _ not _ mother my friends, how dare you, and Harry and Ron are  _ fully _ capable of taking care of themselves-”

“I’m not someone you can save Granger, you need to get that through your thick fluffy skull and into your brain. I’m fucking broken.”

Hermione stopped talking when he said that, stopped overlapping her words with his, her rant on top of his when his voice faltered. She hesitated, softening her voice as her gaze studied his face. “You’re not the only one that’s broken.”

“I didn’t ask you to fix me.”

“I didn’t say I was going to.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

She stared.

He stared.

She breathed.

He sighed.

She leapt.

He leaned.

Then her mouth was on his and that sweet, intoxicating sensation of butterflies moving all around engulfed her senses. The hairs stood on end everywhere and there was this shiver that shook her to her core. His arms were around her and though he had gone thin in prison he felt warm and strong against her. A stable force in a storm she couldn’t control. Her hands grabbed onto the material at the back of his neck, holding him to her. Hermione hadn’t felt this alive, this full of electric live-wire, for so long she thought she had lost it. She thought she had lost the fire and was only running on fumes and stubbornness. But his soft lips caressing hers, his hands steady on her back - it fueled her, it turned the flame into a roaring inferno.

They pulled apart just enough to breathe. Just enough to open their eyes and look at each other.

“Fuck,” they said in unison.

_ -Two weeks to the trial- _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are all the pre-written chapters so far! You're all caught up yay! Thank you so much for reading <3 I will hopefully be as inspired to write in the next weeks as I was today (editing and re-posting five chapters - crazy). Please review if you feel comfortable with it xx

**Author's Note:**

> Please review if you can - I would greatly appreciate it


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